


It Takes A Pathetic Lifeform

by SorciereMystique



Series: Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Chosen One [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, BAMF Padmé Amidala, BAMF Shmi Skywalker, Darth Maul Redemption, Everyone has a crush on Obi-Wan, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Force Ghost Qui-Gon Jinn, Gen, Good Dooku (Star Wars), Grandparent Dooku (Star Wars), Jedi Families (Star Wars), Jedi Master Asajj Ventress, Kenobi family - Freeform, Korkie Kryze is a Kenobi, Minor Character Death, No Smut, Obi-Dad Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi Whump, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Mother, Obi-Wan and Satine are married, Obi-Wan can sing, Obi-Wan is the Chosen One, Obitine, Past Quitahl, Recovering alcoholic Obi-Wan, Satine Kryze-Kenobi - Freeform, Shmi Skywalker Lives, deathstick and spice addiction, emotionally significant haircut, fighting slavery, future Anidala, recovering alcoholic Yan Dooku
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 54
Words: 246,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorciereMystique/pseuds/SorciereMystique
Summary: After the events of The Phantom Menace, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine sees his chance to approach the true Chosen One: Obi-Wan Kenobi. Exploiting Obi-Wan's difficult situation, his genetic predispositions, and vulnerabilities brought on by a high midichlorian count, he succeeds in hooking him on alcohol. Addiction is a pathway to the Dark Side. Obi-Wan does his best to bring up Anakin and fulfill his responsibilities as a Jedi, but this gets increasingly difficult as his alcoholism progresses. Following a disastrous lifeday celebration for Anakin that ends in Obi-Wan hitting rock bottom, Obi-Wan discovers that he has a network of Jedi and biological family and fellow recovering addicts as he gets sober and rebuilds his life, striving to be a better Jedi than ever before. This includes taking responsibility for some past actions and choices and paying it forward--with mixed results--as he uncovers Sith nefariousness and fights it with the help of friends and family.
Relationships: Cliegg Lars/Shmi Skywalker, Darth Maul/Original Female Character(s), Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Darth Maul, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn/Tahl (Star Wars)
Series: Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Chosen One [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040381
Comments: 171
Kudos: 93





	1. Inauspicious Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 4th Soberversary to me! This work is timed for release around my sobriety date. It was helpful to find out about favorite actors and fictional characters struggling with alcohol just like me when I was first getting sober, and I do enjoy light comedic fics about Obi-Wan as a drunk, but I never found any fics that explore alcoholism and recovery for this character in a serious way, based on author experience. The more things I have in common with my favorite Star Wars character, the better! (fellow recovering alcoholic, fellow ginger FTW) If anyone is offended at the idea of Obi-Wan being an alcoholic, I am not sorry, because we deserve our heroes too. And I thought it would be cool to have a certain major character as an AA sponsor.  
> Obviously I don't own any of the characters or the planets, and even the original characters I set free to frolic across the Internet as they please. There were no betas so any errors or lapses in judgement are mine. I belong to the Qui-Gon Jinn Living Force School of fiction-writing, so I am not a planner. I try to tie up loose ends as I go. My knowledge of Legends characters and events comes from Wookieepedia and other fics, as does my knowledge of the Clone Wars, which will not happen in this AU. I realize that the name Yan Dooku is not canon, but I went with it because he needed a first name for plot purposes. Some other liberties have been taken with timelines as well.  
> I got stuck writing the ending of my eighth original novel and this sprawling Star Wars fic came out instead. I normally write in Japanese, so I've enjoyed the change of scene as I experiment with perspectives and techniques in English fiction.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, trying to keep his composure. It wouldn’t do to fall apart in front of the Queen of Naboo and her retinue, the Jedi Council who had all come for his master’s funeral, or the little boy whom Qui-Gon had insisted on picking up. Yet another one of Qui-Gon’s pathetic lifeforms who inevitably ended up being Obi-Wan’s responsibility. This was no different, except that now Qui-Gon was dead and the pathetic lifeform in question had a ridiculously-high midichlorian count and an expectation of being made a Jedi without much knowledge of what that actually entailed, since he had left his mother and their slavery behind on Tatooine because of Qui-Gon’s promises. Now it was up to Obi-Wan to keep them. He had been afraid that the Council would not see things that way, but it was irresponsible to send the boy back into slavery on that sand-blasted planet. What else could be done with him if the Jedi Order didn’t accept him, unless Obi-Wan were willing to disobey everything he stood for? Thank the Force it hadn’t come to that.

Qui-Gon had told the Council that Obi-Wan was ready for his trials, but it was hard to tell whether he meant that or if he were merely searching for an excuse to dump his twenty-five-year-old padawan, whom he had only taken on reluctantly to begin with. Now that his master was dead, Obi-Wan had wondered if he would be reassigned, expelled for failing to save him, or knighted. All three outcomes seemed equally likely. It was a relief to be told that his killing of the Sith counted as his trials and that he would be allowed to take little Anakin as his padawan, even though it was customary for new knights to spend a couple of years solo first. Since Obi-Wan was still a padawan at twenty-five when most of his age-mates had been knighted for a couple of years already, he was deemed ready, all things considered.

Deep down, however, he knew he wasn’t really ready, but he felt that he had to pretend that he was, for the sake of the boy. He had never been solely responsible for himself even, and now he was responsible for both of them. He used to think that he was more sensible than Qui-Gon and had certainly been responsible for an endless parade of plants and animals, but a padawan was different. How naïve of him to think that he was qualified for this. Anakin was too old to be a crecheling and too powerful to be just an ordinary Initiate, but he was completely untrained and a bit too young for a padawan. Obi-Wan remembered when he finally managed to become Qui-Gon’s padawan aged thirteen, which was technically too late. Obi-Wan had grown up in the Temple, starting in the creche and studying under Master Yoda as a youngling. Anakin had none of these experiences, and thus no foundation in Jedi life.

Anakin didn’t even know what the padawan braid was. When Obi-Wan first met Anakin, he had a blond bowl cut that wasn’t terrible but wasn’t great either, but Anakin had found Obi-Wan’s padawan hairstyle ridiculous. Objectively, of course, it was a ridiculous style, probably designed to keep teenage male padawans from attracting girls, but after being stuck with it for thirteen years, Obi-Wan had grown attached to the symbolic meaning of the braid. The silly little nerftail at the back of his head he wouldn’t miss, but the braid he did already. Anakin had been a little creeped out by its length when he saw it severed; thanks to its golden red color it did look a bit like a desert snake. Now Anakin himself had the beginnings of one.

Obi-Wan didn’t realize just how deeply lost in thought he was until a tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. He turned abruptly to see Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine, whose home planet this was.

“That was a bit of hard luck for you, young man, but I’m sure the people of Naboo appreciate your late master’s sacrifice. I know I do. Your new apprentice is such a promising boy, too. I’m sure you’ll raise him well. If you ever need to vent to a non-Jedi, you can always talk to me. Here, let me give you a small token of my gratitude for what you did for our Queen. Keep your chin up.” The chancellor slipped something surprisingly heavy for its size into the pocket of Obi-Wan’s cloak and silently moved away to go mingle, ever the smooth, professional politician.

Later, in the quarters Obi-Wan and Anakin now shared in the royal palace of Theed on Naboo, Obi-Wan took off his cloak and fished out the chancellor’s gift from his pocket. It was a medium-sized bottle of Corellian whiskey. How thoughtful of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, knowing exactly what Obi-Wan needed to take the edge off! It was incredible that the chancellor had known Obi-Wan’s favorite brand and drink. Qui-Gon was not much of a drinker, believing as he did that alcohol clouded his connection to the Living Force, but this never prevented him from driving his padawan to drink. Obi-Wan had always been careful, of course, to not get too impaired or spend too many credits, not that he needed to hide the fact that he sometimes visited Dex’s Diner alone for some Jawa Juice, especially since he was well over the required minimum age now. He hadn’t indulged until he was eighteen, which was the legal drinking age on Coruscant.

Obi-Wan was grateful for the screw-top cap on the bottle, since this would make it easy and discreet to open. The good chancellor from Naboo thought of everything. Obi-Wan unscrewed the cap and took a hearty swig. Ah, that’s the good stuff. The familiar burning sensation of Corellian whiskey warmed him from the inside, loosening up the tightly-knotted threads of his mind. _I should have thought of this sooner. No, the logistics were impossible. It doesn’t matter now, as long as this bottle doesn’t get confiscated—and there’s no reason why it should, I deserve this—I can manage._ He was going to be all right. Anakin was going to be all right. The boy was warming to him already, despite a less-than-stellar first impression that had been Obi-Wan’s fault.

* * *

Back in a hidden chamber off of his private office, Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine let his genial, avuncular mask slip and indulged in a truly diabolical cackle. That fool Qui-Gon Jinn had been so easy to deceive, thinking that the child with the ridiculously-high midichlorian count and sob-story background with a slave mother whose freedom nobody remembered to buy was the Chosen One of the prophecy, when the boy had been carefully engineered into existence to be an albatross around the neck of the true Chosen One. With his bleeding heart Jinn would ensure that the boy would be brought into the Order, and given young Kenobi’s strong sense of duty, killing off Jinn would all but force him to train the boy. If the Council refused this, Kenobi might leave the Order, making him easier to turn. The entire Jedi Order were fools not to see that it was Obi-Wan Kenobi, dull, responsible, rule-following as he was, who was the true Chosen One.

For a while, it looked like he was going to be stuck as a farmer on Bandomeer until Darth Sidious himself engineered the crisis that forced him into the arms of Qui-Gon Jinn. Xanatos had been a great unwitting collaborator. It didn’t really matter who Kenobi’s master was, as long as he was trained as a knight, but Darth Sidious had been glad that it was the heretic Jinn and not uptight Mace Windu or Yoda. Darth Sidious preferred to cherry-pick apprentices who had been trained in the Light by someone else first, because it was simply easier to corrupt a Jedi knight than train a Sith from scratch. Really Yan Dooku would have been the best choice for Kenobi’s master, but he was not available to be his mole. Darth Sidious would always curse himself for failing to turn him to the Dark Side. He had come so close.

From observation Darth Sidious had learned Kenobi’s weaknesses. He was responsible, yes, but this manifested itself as a tendency to carry the world on his shoulders silently. The man was incapable of asking for help when he needed it, always taking on more responsibility than what anybody could reasonably handle, absorbing the stress and worry into himself. If he only learned to channel this into mastery of the Dark, he would be unstoppable. Instead, he focused on the love and compassion claptrap that got him into those predicaments in the first place.

Kenobi’s midichlorian count was high but not outrageously so. This was misleading of course, as someone having raw, overwhelming talent without guidance and discipline was no match for someone like Kenobi, who paired above-average but not spectacular talent with solid technique and a strong work ethic.

A fatherless slave child was the ultimate “pathetic lifeform” to weigh him down. The boy would be adorable but emotionally needy and hard to train, causing his master plenty of grief and worry that could feed his Dark capacity without him even knowing it. Sooner or later the child would either turn Dark himself, taking his over-attached master with him, or else get himself killed or permanently injured, which would provide the necessary grief and anger to spark enough desire for revenge to turn his master.

Kenobi was also delightfully unaware of his own strengths. He was humble to a fault, believing himself to be everyone’s last choice in all things. His early troubles in getting himself picked to be a padawan had left a mark on his psyche. He obviously saw himself as an inadequate master for the boy, a poor excuse for a Jedi, a second-rate fighter, a mediocre scholar, and unattractive to women, perhaps due to his ginger hair. None of this was objectively true. Becoming an expert in a defensive style such as Soresu while he was still young, instead of the more flamboyant Ataru style of his late master was hardly the mark of a second-rate fighter. Proficiency in several languages, including some from the Outer Rim, was not a matter of course. Kenobi must be blind if he thinks that women find him plain at best. Doesn’t he notice the way they stare at him, especially now that he’s no longer stuck with that ridiculous padawan hairstyle? For that matter, doesn’t he ever look in the mirror? Not that any of this was skin off of Sheev Palpatine’s nose.

Darth Sidious rubbed his hands in glee as he thought of the intelligence he had received on young Kenobi over the past few years. A fondness for alcohol was useful indeed. Not only would it dull his senses and connection to the Force, helping to mask Darth Sidious’ actions and intentions, but the guilt from being impaired when bad things were engineered to happen would help alienate him from his elders and keep him too ashamed to seek help or advice. In human Force-sensitives without training in Dark techniques, the higher the midichlorian count, the higher the risk of developing an addiction.

If he could be made to develop a dependence on alcohol, he would be easy to manipulate and blackmail. Alcohol would be easier to supply and encourage than deathsticks. It was wonderful to find out that Kenobi already had a taste for spirits and that he also felt a need to hide his tippling. He was halfway there already.

* * *

“Master, wake up.” Obi-Wan winced as the nine-year-old boy for whom he was now responsible flopped himself on top of Obi-Wan’s belly, knocking the wind out of him in the process. A pair of overeager blue eyes pierced into his.

“What time is it? Our flight back to Coruscant wasn’t at sunrise, as last I checked.” Obi-Wan propped himself up on one elbow and peered at the chrono on the wall as soon as he had his breath back. Force, it was still half dark outside. Their flight wouldn’t leave for another three hours. Oh yeah. Children tend to wake up much too early, especially when they are excited about travel to new places, starting new lives, etc. Obi-Wan put a hand on his head, which was pounding. He had been so proud of himself of stopping just under his limit for whiskey last night. Obi-Wan knew from experience his threshold for getting a hangover. On the other hand, that was when he was still a padawan with less responsibility, stress, and of course grief than he had now. Perhaps his tolerance level had been affected by his change in circumstance.

Obi-Wan sent Anakin to the fresher first, then stealthily took a tiny mouthful of the whiskey. He would need to be alert and functional to travel with a child; he couldn’t afford a hangover. This was the first time he had ever tried the old hair-of-the-dog remedy, since he had always woken up with Qui-Gon in the other bedroom before, but now Obi-Wan was the master. What Anakin didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. He was doing it for the boy, anyway. He needed Obi-Wan to be composed and strong right now, not confused, scared, and grieving. If he had to drown those negative emotions in order to start building the training bond with Anakin, then so be it.

When Anakin finished in the fresher and it was Obi-Wan’s turn, he almost gave a cry when he saw himself in the mirror. His unshed tears and hangover made his blue eyes red and baggy, while the stress of the past few days had etched some fine lines around his eyes almost overnight. Obi-Wan was only twenty-five, and had not had any wrinkles before. Losing his master, killing a Sith, dealing with the Council, and taking on a padawan while he was still reeling from all these events had aged him. Something else was wrong with his reflection. Oh yes, that’s right. His padawan braid was missing. His head felt different on the pillow without the stupid nerftail, too, which had affected his sleep. Obi-Wan brushed his teeth and splashed cold water on his face, but didn’t feel up to shaving. He had been old for a padawan, but was now the youngest master in the Order, saddled with a baby face besides. Stubble might help.

At breakfast Obi-Wan chose greasy foods for his hangover while encouraging Anakin to eat up. He knew that Anakin had been a slave without access to a steady supply of good, nutritious food, and that he would need to eat well in order to grow. The boy was impressed by the spread before him and didn’t notice what his master was eating. Come to think of it, he didn’t know that Obi-Wan usually didn’t eat such heavy, oily foods for breakfast, since this was their first morning meal together.

Once they were on the transport, Anakin insisted on watching the pilots and trying to give them “helpful” advice on how to do loop-the-loops and other crazy maneuvers that Obi-Wan would rather they didn’t, until someone mentioned the Queen of Naboo in passing. Anakin immediately fell silent and looked down at his feet. It was not hard to see that he had grown attached to the teenaged monarch. She had been nice to him, after all, and would probably look into freeing the boy’s mother. She seemed similar to Qui-Gon in her reaction to people and creatures who could be considered pitiable. Amazingly, she had managed to get Jar-Jar Binks’ banishment rescinded. Freeing a slave woman on Tatooine seemed like a good project for her.

Anakin willingly left the cockpit hand-in-hand with Obi-Wan. “Padme told me some great stories. Do you know any nice stories, Master?”

Obi-Wan tried out his repertoire, which consisted mostly of the biographies of famous dead Jedi, but none of the stories seemed to meet Anakin’s definition of a “nice story.” This was frustrating for both of them.

“She also sang me a song when I was scared. Do you know any songs?”

Obi-Wan surprised himself by breaking into an old Mandalorian love ballad. He had never expected to sing for anyone ever again after his disastrous stint on Mandalore, least of all a song he had learned from Satine. She had asked him to sing once before she stole a kiss, been amazed by his velvet voice and accurate pitch, and then taken to making him sing at every opportunity. Now Anakin sat, entranced, by the same song that Obi-Wan had once used to declare his forbidden love. Force, that was almost ten years ago. Anakin was barely born. This realization made Obi-Wan feel old.

Anakin had no personal belongings to speak of when he moved into Obi-Wan’s old room. Obi-Wan, being a tidy person, didn’t have much either, but what little he did have he moved into Qui-Gon’s old room. The curtains, bedding, the very furniture still smelled of Obi-Wan’s old master. It was a clean, spicy scent from the hair oil he used to tame flyaways, the only indulgence he allowed himself aside from tea. Obi-Wan had helped his master with his long hair enough times for the scent of his hair oil to be permanently embedded in his brain. Maybe Obi-Wan could use the stuff on his own hair, just as soon as it grew long enough to justify it, to maintain the fragrance in the room. He needed every comforting detail he could find to help him cope with the major transitions in his life.

* * *

“Hey, is that Master Jinn’s new padawan with Obi-Wan? Where is their master?”

Obi-Wan heard a knight he didn’t know well point him out to another knight.

“Don’t be silly, Obi-Wan is the boy’s master. You know that it’s impossible to have two padawans at once. Besides, if I’m not mistaken, Master Jinn was killed in action. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. I’m not sure how he’s managing it, I know I’m not ready for a padawan!” the first knight said. This was not exactly a confidence-boosting conversation to overhear.

 _I’m not actually managing it well at all_ , Obi-Wan wanted to say. Master Yoda was some help with coming up with a curriculum for Anakin, but the boy had so much raw power and talent that the usual exercises designed to increase an Initiate’s power were inappropriate. Instead Anakin needed exercises to help him learn control. These were lessons normally taught to padawans, but Anakin didn’t have the study history or maturity needed to make the most of them. Master Yoda was fond of saying that he had been training Jedi for almost eight hundred years; the downside of this was that he was a bit stuck in his ways. His methods assumed that the student was a blank slate, not that he had bad habits to unlearn.

Anakin was certainly not ready to be trusted with a lightsaber. Even a training saber could be dangerous in his hands, since he had not yet learned about modulating how much of the Force to channel into his strikes. Obi-Wan had tried a casual sparring match with Anakin to see what he knew and what styles might play into his strengths best, but had been rather badly hurt by the boy’s wanton use of the Force. That night, Obi-Wan took a considerable swig from the bottle of Corellian whiskey he had received from Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. His injuries were not bad enough to trouble the healers, but he did need something to mitigate the pain so that he could sleep. Whiskey was the answer to that.

Obi-Wan had seriously considered using a Force-inhibitor on Anakin to make him learn the basics without relying too much on the Force. He even discussed the matter with Master Drallig, who thought it might be an option when Anakin was a little older and stronger, but Anakin himself had reacted with so much fear to the idea that Obi-Wan had been forced to give it up. How could he have been so insensitive? A Force-inhibitor looked very much like the collars put on slaves in Hutt Space. Naturally the idea would stir up old traumas and fears in Anakin. For all Obi-Wan knew, the boy’s mother may have been forced to wear such a collar, perhaps as a dancing girl who was sold off when she got pregnant. The fewer questions asked about Shmi Skywalker’s past the better. Obi-Wan made a mental note to look into what happened to her, and brought his attention back to the here and now.


	2. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grandpa Dooku and Uncle Dex, oh my!

Cliegg Lars sat at his kitchen table, his head in his hands. How was he going to run a moisture farm in the desert and raise his little boy as a single father? It was impossible to manage a farm with only one adult. What he really needed was a wife, but he had just enough money saved up to buy one slave, preferably female. If he had a woman to run the homestead and watch over Owen, he could focus on the farm. A woman about his age would be best, since she would be young enough to handle the workload but old enough to have the life experience and emotional maturity needed. The whole idea of buying and selling sentient beings was disgusting, but it was a necessary evil in the harsh climates so common in Hutt Space.

One day, when he went into the nearest town to trade supplies, he passed a shop window that said, “Slave for sale—female, age around 26, experienced housekeeper and nursemaid. Inquire inside for details.” Cliegg had a feeling. He sometimes had hunches about things, usually right. This slave could be the woman he was looking for. She was a little younger than he had in mind, but close enough. Watto was a hard-driving, sneaky sleemo of a businessman, but it was worth a try.

Nothing could have prepared Cliegg for what happened next. The Toydarian shopkeeper was slimy as always, but it was the sight of the slave herself that surprised Cliegg. He didn’t need to peer inside her mouth or inspect her teeth to know that he would be spending the rest of his life with her. She would not be his slave for long. For the second time in his life, Cliegg Lars had a powerful hunch about a woman.

“What is your name?” Cliegg asked the woman herself.

“Who cares, call her what you want. She’s yours to do whatever you want with, as long as you pay my price for her.”

“I didn’t ask you, I asked her.”

“My name is Shmi Skywalker.” The woman held her head up, standing tall and proud. Cliegg noted with awe that she had ten times more dignity than her owner had. Shmi Skywalker. Cliegg found himself smitten already. She was certainly a good-looking woman with big, intelligent brown eyes, plentiful chestnut brown hair neatly braided into a bun at the back of her neck, a wiry frame, and kind face. But this was not what attracted him to her. She had a quiet charisma, a hard-working but regal air that would make a poor farmer like himself proud to have her for a wife.

As soon as he had paid for her and put a comfortable distance between them and the town, he said, “I bought you from Watto, but I have no intention of treating you as a slave. I lost my wife and my boy needs a mother. If you come with me, you do so as a free woman. If you’d rather not, then I won’t keep you.”

Shmi was silent for a long while. “How old is your boy?”

“Owen is twelve. He thinks he’s a grown man, but he still needs a mother.”

“Then he’s a little older than the son I gave up.” Shmi had a wistful but proud look on her face.

“Was your son sold? If he was, I’ll save my money to buy him back for you.” However many seasons that took.

“No, there’s no need for that. I appreciate the thought, though.” Shmi’s expression softened from steely stoicism to one of relaxation and goodwill. She was starting to like this blunt farmer who had bought her freedom. “My boy is training to be a Jedi. When he grows up, he’s going to free all the slaves and fight for peace and justice for all, even out here in the Outer Rim.”

The mother of a Jedi. Owen was a lucky boy indeed to be getting Shmi Skywalker for a stepmother. Cliegg smiled. He was certain that he had made the right choice.

* * *

At night in her bedchamber, after taking off her outrageously fashionable gowns and washing off the thick, white makeup, Queen Amidala of Naboo took comfort in being just plain Padme Naberrie again. She had been elected for her wisdom, maturity, and strong service ethic, but underneath it all, she was just a fourteen-year-old girl.

She couldn’t forget the little boy she had met at the junkshop on Tatooine. What was his name? He was such a bright child, with an intense, unchildlike gaze combined with a feral vulnerability that attracted her. But the way she was attracted to the young man now responsible for the boy was completely different. Obi-Wan Kenobi. She still remembered his name, and would recognize him on the street. When she saw him at his master’s funeral, he didn’t have the silly braid hanging halfway down his chest. Padme had never been attracted to a ginger man before, but Obi-Wan was gorgeous. His blue eyes shone with intelligence, kindness, and something else that she didn’t understand but found immensely appealing. The way he maintained control and did what had to be done was impressive, but the hint of vulnerability in the way he bit his lip to keep it from quivering was absolutely adorable. He must surely be muscular under those Jedi robes, strong enough to protect her if need be, although Padme could handle herself. After all, he had killed a Sith. Nobody had done that in a thousand years.

* * *

“Cloudy the boy’s future is.” Master Yoda’s voice troubled Obi-Wan’s dreams. _Of course his future is cloudy, he’s stuck with me as his master._ The boy was so strong in the Force that Obi-Wan worried about the child being able to see into his mind before he was ready to face the fact that his master was just a scared boy himself. If he dulled his own Force presence a bit, this seemed to help the boy relax enough to sleep. There were days, no, entire weeks, in which Anakin’s nightmares drove him into Obi-Wan’s bed. The more time he spent in Obi-Wan’s bedroom, the more likely he was to get into things he wasn’t ready to handle, such as holobooks by masters who flirted with heresy, or the bottle of Corellian whiskey in his nightstand drawer, which had later been joined by a bottle of a rare brandy from Naboo, also a generous gift from Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. It was so kind of him to keep Obi-Wan and Anakin in his thoughts. The last time Obi-Wan had run into the good chancellor on Coruscant, he had made a comment to the effect that he admired Obi-Wan for his patient devotion to such a special boy.

It had been meant to praise, or at least encourage him, but Obi-Wan felt a pang of guilt every time he thought of it. Surely a busy, important man like Supreme Chancellor Palpatine had better things to do and think about than a pair of pathetic lifeforms adopted out of pure pity by Qui-Gon Jinn. No, that wasn’t quite fair to Anakin. He wasn’t the pathetic one. The nightmares weren’t his fault, but Obi-Wan’s response to them was entirely his responsibility.

Just last night, he had been dreaming of Qui-Gon, shouting “Master!” in his dream, only to discover that it had been Anakin shouting “Master!” trying to wake him. He had no idea how long poor Anakin had been standing there, trying to get his attention. If he hadn’t had a bit of a nightcap, he might have noticed earlier. Anakin had asked him to sing a happy song, too. Obi-Wan couldn’t think of any happy songs other than drinking songs, so he had given a rendition of “Jawa Juice Jive,” which had pleased Anakin, but was not exactly appropriate.

On the other hand, Anakin was making steady progress in his knowledge and skills, despite his master’s not having any idea what he was doing. Trying to get Anakin to meditate with him, Obi-Wan often wondered if the boy would be better off with Master Yoda’s class of Initiates. A shot of liquor would probably calm him down enough to meditate when he was older, but Anakin needed to learn meditation now, especially with that level of Force sensitivity.

While Anakin was in class the next day, Obi-Wan sat in the refectory, drinking his third cup of kaf that day. He didn’t even like kaf, but it kept him awake better than tea did. Yawning, he considered having a fourth cup, but decided against it. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, not that he could, anyway. What was the use in putting Anakin to bed in his own room when it was just a matter of hours before he woke Obi-Wan up with yet another nightmare? It took a lot of energy on Obi-Wan’s part to calm the boy. Letting him snuggle up to him in the bed, coming into physical contact, was the best way to absorb the boy’s pain into himself, the way a healer might suck the poison out of a snakebite.

“Hey, is that you, um, Kenobi, is it?”

Obi-Wan was startled by a deep, authoritative voice. Oh no, Anakin’s in trouble again. Obi-Wan turned around to look at the speaker, taking care not to move too quickly, so as not to make his pounding headache worse.

“Yes, I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. Master Dooku, I presume.” Obi-Wan had never been close to his grand-master, mainly because Qui-Gon didn’t get along with him.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Please, by all means.” Tired as he was, Obi-Wan welcomed some adult company.

“I’m sorry we’re not better-acquainted. Qui-Gon didn’t want me interfering in your training, and I spent a long time away on missions. Force, you look terrible.”

“Thanks.” This was not what Obi-Wan had meant to say, but he was so tired and—although he didn’t want to admit it, even to himself—hungover, that his usual tact was absent.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean it as an insult. I’ve brought up my share of difficult padawans, so I know a frazzled master when I see one. Night terrors, am I right?”

“No offense taken. I know I look bad. I’m not getting much sleep. Anakin wakes me up with terrible nightmares almost every night. I don’t know why we have two bedrooms when he always sleeps in my bed anyway.”

“Some padawans have these dreams. They seem prophetic so it’s not uncommon for both padawan and master to be terrified of them, but remember, your padawan is still just a small boy. Younglings are naturally trying, especially human male ones. They can’t help it.”

“Was my master a difficult padawan? Was I?” Obi-Wan had a nagging feeling that he was the one who wasn’t doing things right, not Anakin. This combined with a suspicion that his memory of his own early life was factually incorrect, and that apologies to his late master were in order.

Master Dooku chuckled. “Qui-Gon never asked me for advice about training you. I suspect you were easy, especially after Xanatos. Your master, though, was challenging to bring up, that’s for sure. Always asking awkward questions, always bringing home all sorts of weeds and vermin. He was rather messy, too.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “He still had those habits while he was training me. I’m glad for his burning need to adopt pathetic creatures, though, because I would still be farming on Bandomeer otherwise. I thought he was messy too, until I started living with Anakin. That boy’s room always looks like a hurricane blew through it.”

“And of course I think about him every day. I never told him this, but I missed him after he was knighted, and I miss him now. I regret that I was going through a phase of questioning the Code, questioning everything I was taught about the Force, while Qui-Gon was young and impressionable. I’m afraid I’m responsible for his heresy. Frankly I’m surprised that you’re not a heretic too.”

“I don’t know about that. I might be one and not know it. It took me some time to sort out which teachings were from the Code and which were purely from my master.”

“All masters put their own stamp on things when they teach their padawans. They feel a need to pass on their hard-won wisdom. I never thought about it until I inherited someone else’s padawan.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. This was interesting. Since Anakin had some baggage, perhaps Master Dooku’s experience would be helpful. “Anakin didn’t grow up in the Temple so he has bad habits to unlearn, not to mention attachment issues.”

“Asajj did, too. That wasn’t her original master’s fault, though. He was killed right in front of her and died in her arms. It was understandable that she would react the way she did, given her irregular early childhood upbringing, but it took a lot of patience to set her straight. She’s a good knight now, almost ready for a padawan of her own. Her original master would be so proud of her. Well, I’d better be going. It was nice meeting you. If you want advice on bringing up difficult padawans or someone to train the boy in Makashi, I’d be happy to help, for the good name of my lineage.”

“Thank you, Master Dooku.” Obi-Wan felt a little better already as he watched his grand-master get up with an agility surprising in one of that age.

“Oh, and one more thing. Whenever you eventually realize that you need fashion advice, come to me. Whatever you do, don’t copy Qui-Gon. I know that all young human male knights go through a phase of experimentation with growing out their hair, and it’s all right to grow a beard, but do come to your senses sooner rather than later. You’re someone’s master now, after all.”

Obi-Wan nodded respectfully, accepting the spirit in which the advice was offered, if not the supercilious tone. Master Dooku was undeniably a well-put-together individual with a handsome face, dark eyes, and neatly slicked-back short white hair, which he set off with dark brown, almost black robes instead of the creamy white that Obi-Wan favored. His personal style could not be more different from Qui-Gon’s.

* * *

In the afternoon Obi-Wan struggled to stay awake as he asked Anakin what he had learned in class that day. Obi-Wan knew exactly what was taught in the courses, having taken them himself, but the point was to see what Anakin had absorbed and what still needed work. Unsurprisingly, meditation needed the most supplementation. The closest Anakin came to clearing his mind enough was when he was tinkering, so Obi-Wan had resorted to bringing him a random assortment of old parts, knowing that Anakin would turn them into some kind of droid. Where Qui-Gon adopted unloved organic lifeforms, Anakin would make mechanical ones. Keeping Anakin’s room tidied up was a lost cause, anyway.

Lately Obi-Wan had taken up long, after-dinner walks around the Temple in an attempt to wear Anakin out enough to sleep. Of course, what he told Anakin was that the walks were designed to familiarize him with the Temple, since he hadn’t grown up there. This was true as well. Obi-Wan dreaded running into Council members, except perhaps for friendly Master Koon and playful Master Yoda, because he felt that they were watching his every move, sharp eyes gleaming to catch him in some terrible mistake that would justify reassigning Anakin. They must surely regret having agreed to let him train the boy. Obi-Wan was barely a knight himself, he was hardly qualified to teach the Chosen One. Master Windu in particular had a penetrating glare, like he was seeing right through his companions. He had never believed that Anakin was the Chosen One, which was perhaps why he had agreed to let Obi-Wan train him. To him, Anakin would always be the slave boy from Tatooine who was really too old to train but too strong in the Force to let loose.

Obi-Wan was brought back to the present by a tug on his robe. Anakin was looking up at him.

“Master, today my instructor asked if I could swim. I said, of course not, I’m from Tatooine, but she laughed and said you were the best swimmer of your age group so I should ask you to teach me. I told her I would, but Master, I’m afraid of the water. It isn’t natural to have so much of it in one place.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “She said I was the best? That’s funny, that’s not the way I remember it. I was the worst in my class at first. I wouldn’t have passed the course unless she let me into the pool after hours to practice some more. She worked me pretty hard, as I remember. But that’s how you learn. Of course it feels good to be excellent at something right away, but nothing compares to the joy of working hard and overcoming something you used to be bad at. I have a feeling you’ll learn to be a good swimmer. Eventually you’ll get better at meditation, too.”

Anakin made a face. He hated the standard Jedi meditation exercises. This had never been a big problem for Obi-Wan, and he had never heard Qui-Gon complain about meditation. Master Dooku didn’t bring it up, either.

When Anakin finally got up the courage to swim for the first time, Obi-Wan joined the class as an assistant instructor just to make sure that Anakin went through with it. Seeing his master at home in the water, wearing a well-worn pair of swimming trunks that had been navy but were now light blue, Anakin seemed to relax enough to allow himself to be lowered into the shallow end of the pool, although he insisted on clinging to Obi-Wan the whole time he was in the water. This made it hard for Obi-Wan to work with any of the other younglings, but then, Anakin was the only padawan in the class so nobody thought it strange that he had brought his master.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Obi-Wan asked in the locker room afterwards, as he rubbed a towel on his hair, which was now long enough to part on one side. After his first encounter with Master Dooku he had started to take a bit more care with it, combing the sides back behind his ears while his hair was still damp.

“I guess it was OK.” Anakin didn’t want to admit that the pool wasn’t as scary as he had feared, but he also didn’t want to make a show of being terrified in front of the younglings in the locker room. He opted to look down at his feet.

“I think you earned a treat. We’re going to meet an old friend of Qui-Gon’s tonight. He’s not a Jedi, but he’s known me since I was only a couple of years older than you are now. I think you’ll like Dex.”

When Obi-Wan set foot in Dex’s Diner, the robot waitress, Flo, called out to Dex. “Qui-Gon’s boy is here!”

Dex bounded out from the kitchen and enveloped all of his arms around Obi-Wan in a vise-like hug before he noticed that Obi-Wan was not alone. “What do we have here? Do you want to give ol’ Uncle Dex a hug too?”

Anakin didn’t respond, which Dex took as an affirmative answer.

“Careful now, don’t squeeze him to death! That’s my padawan.” Obi-Wan warned playfully, still catching his breath.

“Your padawan? Since when do you have a kid of your own?”

“He’s my master, not my father.” Anakin finally spoke up.

“Yes, I know. But I always say it’s the same thing. He might as well be your dad. You Jedi are strange that way. I don’t think I’ve been introduced to you yet.”

Since Anakin continued to stare, Obi-Wan laughed nervously. _Force, I still need to teach him some manners._ “This is Anakin Skywalker. Anakin, meet Dex Jettster.” Obi-Wan completed the introductions.

“Nice to meet you, Anakin. I think I know what a growing boy like you needs for dinner. I remember what your old man used to like when Qui-Gon first brought him here. Did you know your grandpappy Qui-Gon?”

Anakin nodded, still perplexed at Dex’s insistence on treating his Jedi lineage as equivalent to a family connected by blood. It wasn’t the same thing at all. Anakin would know, having grown up with his mother before having a Jedi master.

When Flo brought their food, she placed a cup of Jawa Juice in front of Obi-Wan without comment. He didn’t have to order it; she knew that he appreciated it. Obi-Wan looked at her sheepishly, not sure how to explain to Anakin that he wouldn’t be getting any. Flo took the hint and brought a cup of fruit juice.

That night Anakin didn’t have any nightmares and Obi-Wan slept in peace. Thanks to his two refills of Jawa Juice, his sleep was dreamless. The greasy food would help forestall the hangover, too.


	3. Contacts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sith masters have bad teeth. Apparently they don't get dental insurance.

Darth Sidious noted with some dismay that Yan Dooku had reached out to Kenobi. He was exactly the sort of support network that would make it harder to turn the young knight. For his part the boy was settling into Jedi life a little too well, in spite of the carefully crafted regimen of nightmares. The nightmares had brought master and apprentice closer together through their near-nightly co-sleeping, but the attachment pattern developing was too healthy. It was time for a new approach.

Perhaps Yan Dooku could still be useful after all. If he spent more time with the pair, his critical, self-assured nature could be used to grow Kenobi’s self-doubt. His sophisticated palate might help foster a taste for luxury and self-indulgence that was otherwise lacking. Since Kenobi’s idea of a treat was a greasy-spoon diner, he had a long way to go. On the other hand, his first-hand experience with alcohol as a sleep-aid was a step in the right direction.

* * *

The next day, Obi-Wan was surprised to get a summons to the Senate building. Had he been caught doing something he shouldn’t? That was impossible, he had done nothing wrong. Even though he did drink three cups of Jawa Juice the night before, at no point was he out of control or negligent towards his padawan. It couldn’t be a mission, since that would have come from the Council. Besides, knights with very young padawans weren’t usually sent on missions, anyway.

He saw Anakin off to his morning classes and headed for the Senate, trying not to think about his churning stomach. He was getting too old to eat such greasy food without consequence. He breathed in and out deliberately, centering himself in the Force, and felt better almost immediately.

When he declared his arrival to the protocol droid at the reception desk, she directed him to the office of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. Obi-Wan distinctly remembered sending a thank-you note after the last gift he had received. He didn’t remember having said or done anything inappropriate or offensive. It was hard to imagine a veteran former senator from Naboo, now Supreme Chancellor, having any official business with an insignificant young knight like himself. Obi-Wan held his breath before knocking on the door.

“Come in.” The voice coming from inside the room was pleasant but impersonal, offering a neutral, standardized greeting. Given the number of people who must visit the Supreme Chancellor’s office, many of them probably unbidden, this kind of manner must be a necessity.

“Ah, it’s you, Knight Kenobi. I had to resort to having you summoned because I didn’t have your personal contact information. Come in, have a seat, make yourself at home. How have you been?”

Obi-Wan realized that this was a friendly visit and smiled accordingly. He knew that the vast majority of politicians couldn’t be trusted unreservedly, but courtesy must still be repaid. He sat down and served up the usual pleasantries.

“I’d like to offer you something to drink. Usually I just make a standard cup of kaf for visitors, but I invited you today because I had something I wanted to share with you. One of my aides is back on Naboo right now, maternity leave and all that, and she sent me a large box of ingredients for making Naboo kaf. I’m sure you’ll like it. I couldn’t drink all this by myself, and I know you appreciate the finer things from each system, so I thought of you to share it with.”

“How thoughtful of you. Thank you very much, Chancellor. I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me. It’s a pleasure and an honor. I’m sorry that you had to summon me to come visit you. I promise I’ll come of my own accord next time.”

The Chancellor chuckled like a kindly grandfather at this and patted Obi-Wan’s hand. “Of course you will. If you don’t, I’ll just summon you again. Why don’t we try out the Naboo kaf now? I’ll show you how to make it.” Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s eyes sparkled with charming mischief.

It wasn’t until he saw Supreme Chancellor Palpatine brew ordinary kaf and then add a sweet-smelling brandy to it that Obi-Wan realized that Naboo kaf was an alcoholic beverage. He raised an eyebrow in a silent question. After all, both men were on duty.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s only a little bit, and just for taste. It’s mostly kaf anyway. Besides, we’re both just having a break.” Supreme Chancellor Palpatine handed Obi-Wan his mug, then lifted his own. “Cheers.”

The two men sat in companionable silence, sipping their drinks, for a pleasant ten minutes before Obi-Wan spoke. “I didn’t know it was so much trouble to bring up children. I have a new appreciation for my master now. Anakin’s adorable, I have no regrets about taking him on, but he’s really gotten me to think and grow. Chancellor, have you brought up any children?”

“Unfortunately I don’t have any children of my own, but I have mentored plenty of young, freshman senators. It’s always rewarding to watch them grow.”

When the two finished their drinks, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine packaged up his gift to Obi-Wan. Both knew when the visit was over.

By the time Obi-Wan had returned to his quarters in the Jedi Temple to hide his gift, it was lunchtime. He met Anakin and together they went to the refectory. Obi-Wan spotted Master Dooku at a distant table talking to a knight a little older than Obi-Wan. She had a deathly pale complexion and an air of determined competence about her. This must be Master Dooku’s former padawan, Asajj Ventress. Obi-Wan didn’t know much about her, but he could see that Anakin was looking at her too. He didn’t seem shy at all, which was unusual. Perhaps there was something about her that reassured him or felt familiar. Maybe she reminded him of his mother somehow. Oh yeah, Shmi Skywalker. Obi-Wan kept forgetting to find out what became of her. This was understandable, since he hadn’t even met her. Soon, he really must make inquiries.

Later that afternoon, Obi-Wan and Anakin ran into Master Dooku again. “Ah, Master Kenobi. This must be your padawan.”

“Yes, this is Anakin Skywalker. Anakin, Master Dooku was Master Qui-Gon Jinn’s master.”

Anakin looked up in awe at the tall old man. He had a grace in his bearing that hinted at his noble birth. The boy couldn’t bring himself to say anything, but he did bow his head in acknowledgement. This would have to do.

“Have you started learning any katas yet? Your master is known for Soresu, and his master—my padawan—was best at Ataru, but I can teach you Makashi. That is, if you both would like that.”

“Master, will I get my own lightsaber?” Anakin had opened his eyes wider at the mention of the various forms.

“You will when you’re ready. But first, you need to know the basics. You don’t need a lightsaber to learn the basic moves. The harder you work on your practice katas, the sooner you’ll be ready.” Obi-Wan didn’t want Master Dooku to get the impression that he was neglecting the boy’s training, but he did feel a need to remind all of them that Anakin wasn’t really ready.

Master Dooku laughed when Anakin pouted. “Patience, my boy. Being patient is part of being a good Jedi.” The elderly master ruffled Anakin’s hair, the front of which was starting to droop onto his forehead. “He needs a haircut, too. Well, I’ll be seeing you around.” With that, Master Dooku strode off.

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan but didn’t say anything. It seemed a bit invasive to him that this man, whom he had never met before, felt free to make critical comments like this. He also felt oddly protective of his master, who had let the older man casually accuse him of being lax about his padawan’s grooming.

Obi-Wan merely smiled. “He’s right, you know.” Anakin pouted and yanked on Obi-Wan’s hand when he realized that his master was siding with the insensitive old man instead of standing up for either of them.

After dinner Obi-Wan set Anakin up in the fresher with a towel around his neck and oiled the clippers. Anakin was pouting. “It’s not fair. Why do you do as he says? Your hair is longer than mine, now, anyway.”

“Because he’s right. It’s important to follow the rules, even when we don’t understand or like them, because they’re there for a reason. There are no rules about knights’ hair, but if there were, I would follow them. Master Dooku will be happy to let me know when he thinks I need a haircut, too. He’s already told me his opinions on the subject. I’ll listen to his advice respectfully, whether I agree with it or not, because he is my master’s master. Now, chin down.” And that was the end of that. Anakin continued to pout but made no further objections.

That night Anakin had his first nightmare in a long time, this time about being tracked down and dragged back to Tatooine, where he would be enslaved again by the Hutts. This time he didn’t have his mother to shield him. Instead, he saw the pale-skinned knight from the refectory come to save him, but she was quickly put in chains as well. She seemed to give up at this point, with only a rebellious fire in her eyes. Anakin knew the look of a former slave when he saw one. Finally Obi-Wan came to rescue both of them, but because he foolishly forgot his lightsaber, he promptly got himself killed.

Anakin awoke with a start and scampered across the living room of the apartment to Obi-Wan’s door. Finding it unlocked, he opened it and went around to the far side of the bed and peered into his master’s face. “Master.” Without realizing that he was doing it, Anakin put some Force into the word. Obi-Wan’s eyes opened wide.

“Anakin, are you all right?” He sat up in bed and threw aside his blanket. Obi-Wan was prepared to get up and go fight a threat or invite Anakin into the bed; it didn’t matter which, as far as Anakin was concerned.

“I think so. I dreamed I was taken back into slavery and they killed you. You forgot your lightsaber when you came to rescue me.”

“Hey, I’m not dead. I don’t wear my lightsaber in bed, but I know where it is. I would never let anyone take you captive like that. Come here.”

Anakin climbed into the bed with his master and snuggled up to him. Obi-Wan gently induced his padawan to lower his still-developing mental shields some more so that he could see the nightmare. To his surprise he recognized Asajj Ventress in the dream. Perhaps she had been a slave at some point in her childhood, and Anakin had picked up on this. That would explain his reaction to seeing her. Obi-Wan made a mental note to keep her in mind as a resource in case Anakin’s slavery trauma caused him any more trouble.

* * *

Darth Sidious sucked on his remaining teeth in dismay. Young Anakin Skywalker had had a natural nightmare of his own, not planted by the Sith master. Worse, it had alerted Kenobi to the existence of a further resource. The pair were proving to be rather difficult to isolate. It wouldn’t do to barrage a full-fledged Jedi knight with nightmares; they usually already knew how to deal with those. On the other hand, Kenobi might be induced to have nightmares he wouldn’t consciously remember. The dreamless sleep of intoxication would be the perfect cover. Even if he did remember a nightmare, he would blame it on his drinking. It was only a matter of time before he developed a custom of drinking Naboo kaf first thing in the morning, initially as a discreet hair-of-the-dog remedy, but this would teach him to spike other drinks as well.

As for Ventress, it was imperative to keep her away from little Skywalker, unless she were turned first. He had already tried to get her once, but Dooku had ruined it. Having been tempted by the Dark himself, he had been too effective at re-grounding her in those confounded Jedi dogmas.

Kenobi offered a nice challenge, all things considered. He was pleasant in person, which was rather dull, but his self-doubts were a delight to behold. They were easy to see, too, just below the surface. That Dex Jettster had even helped matters by planting the idea in both Kenobi’s and Skywalker’s heads that they were very nearly father and son, which would be useful for growing the sort of excessive attachment needed to turn them both.

* * *

Padme Naberrie knew there was something odd about Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it seemed unnatural that he had been a senator not just since before she was born, but since before her parents were born, too. Padme herself had only just turned fifteen, but her father was in his forties. He had said that his father couldn’t remember a time before Sheev Palpatine had been in office. Padme’s grandfather was in his seventies. Was it possible that Senator Palpatine had been in office, uninterrupted, for over sixty years? Her father said he looked the same now as he did thirty years ago. That was impossible. The man looked about seventy, so thirty years ago he would have been around forty—he wouldn’t look exactly the same. Despite his being from Naboo, nothing was known publicly about his family, either. That was strange. It was as if Sheev Palpatine had always existed as an elderly but still vivacious senator, rootless, unchanging. Immortal. Not even Jedi achieved that, at least, not as far as Padme knew. If they did, it wasn’t like this.

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was unflappable, which was not unusual for a veteran politician, but it always seemed like he had known all along about things before they were introduced to the Senate floor. He couldn’t possibly have introduced every motion or read every report. Nobody could handle that kind of volume. And yet, he was never surprised. His cool charm was suspicious, too. Even calm, unemotional Jedi had warm charm, not cool. Obi-Wan Kenobi was the most charming young man Padme had ever seen, and he exuded a quiet, kind warmth. His master had been charming as well, but in a different way. Padme wondered how Obi-Wan and the boy were doing. Had it already been half of a standard year since the incident on Naboo?

* * *

Anakin was finally getting the hang of controlling his Force use. He was almost ready to join Master Drallig’s class of junior padawans, where he would learn more of the basics to prepare for lightsaber work. His homework today was to find out more about which form his master favored and why.

When Obi-Wan heard about the assignment, he was proud of his padawan’s progress but also sad to revisit the reason for his preference for Soresu. He had already been leaning in that direction, given his conservative nature—at least, he was conservative compared to Qui-Gon—but seeing his master’s Ataru fail to protect him from the Zabrak Sith warrior had cemented the decision.

Anakin demanded to see a demonstration, too. Obi-Wan took him to the dojo to see if there were anyone who might indulge him, and was relieved to find Master Dooku and Knight Ventress sparring already.

“That is Makashi. Watch them, Anakin. See how they move. They’re focused on attack. The form I use the most often, Soresu, is focused on defense. When they’re done, I’ll try to get one of them to engage me so that you can see the difference.”

“What does it look like when both fighters use Soresu?” Anakin asked, curious.

“Well, nothing happens, because it’s purely a defensive form. If you get two practitioners of Soresu together, they’ll spend a long time waiting for the other one to attack. Eventually they’ll get tired of that, decide not to fight, and have a cup of tea together. The ultimate goal of a Jedi knight isn’t to fight and win. It’s to not fight whenever possible and find a way to make everyone happy.”

Anakin pouted. “That’s not exciting to watch.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “You think peace isn’t exciting?”

“No, watching people drink tea isn’t exciting.” Anakin had seen his master drink tea enough times to know. Kaf too, for that matter. His master drank a special kaf with a rich, sweet aroma every morning that seemed to make him feel mellow, but he never shared it. Sometimes he had a second cup of it, especially if they had been to Dex’s Diner the night before.

In the end, Knight Ventress won the match. Master Dooku grumbled about getting old, but it was easy to see from his face that he was very proud of her. If Dex met her, he might insist on referring to her as Anakin’s Great-Aunt Asajj, which would feel weird. She wasn’t old enough to be Anakin’s grandparent.

She graciously agreed to spar with his master once she and Master Dooku heard about his assignment. Master Dooku took it upon himself to provide the commentary on the differences between his match with Knight Ventress and Master Kenobi’s. The whole thing was interesting but not as exciting. Knight Ventress’ style was flamboyant and fun to watch, while his master’s Soresu was stable. He never missed a trick, but was always reacting, never attacking, just waiting for his opponent to tire herself out. On the other hand, he had an advantage in the sense that this was Knight Ventress’ second match in a row.

When they finished, Anakin watched them help each other up, getting each other drinks of water, and generally getting along. The whole thing was strange. They weren’t close before, as far as he knew, and yet now that they had fought each other, they seemed to be friends.

“Master Dooku, why did they become friends by fighting?”

Master Dooku chuckled. “Well, when two Jedi spar, they aren’t really fighting, at least, not like you would fight an enemy. They get to know each other better by seeing how they respond to threats. You can learn a lot about someone’s personality by sparring with them.”

When Obi-Wan and Asajj rejoined the group, Master Dooku put his hand on Asajj’s shoulder. “Well fought, padawan.” Turning to Obi-Wan, he smiled and said, “You fight so well even with your hair in your eyes.”

Anakin looked to his master, but Obi-Wan was laughing at the lighthearted jab. He looked at Anakin and winked. _See, Master Dooku is brutally honest with me, too. Not just you._

Obi-Wan was still too flushed from the match to put his outer layers back on, but he pulled out a thermos from a pocket and took a swig. Nobody knew that the iced tea in his thermos wasn’t just tea. He kept it ready just in case, not touching it unless he felt that he needed it. He didn’t need it before the match, but now he felt that he had earned it. He wasn’t clear on what sort of emergency necessitated brandy-spiked tea, but he knew that he would know one when he encountered one. He was caught off guard when Master Dooku asked for a match.

“You demonstrated Makashi vs. Soresu this time, but I know you’re more than proficient in Ataru as well. Why don’t we show Anakin what that match looks like?” Master Dooku had a fiendish gleam in his eye.

“All right. Asajj, you can explain the match to my padawan. Or do you need to catch your breath first?” Obi-Wan was grinning at her, but inside he was hoping desperately that nobody caught on to what was in his thermos. It was normal to have a drink after dinner to unwind, but carrying around spiked tea all day would arouse suspicion. Whatever he did, he could not share it with anyone.

Even at Master Dooku’s age, he still proved to be a formidable opponent for a second round, especially when Obi-Wan was restricted to a form he hadn’t practiced as often as before. At least he had these excuses if he lost. He wasn’t really impaired, not after a cup of Naboo kaf this morning, a swig from his thermos just now, and never mind. He had to be careful not to let his form get sloppy. If he did, Master Dooku would quickly realize that something was wrong, and the man was sharp enough to figure out what that something wrong was.

Anakin felt safe and understood sitting with Knight Ventress. He was almost certain she too had experienced slavery. Perhaps when he got to know her better he could show her some of his memories. So far the only person he could communicate like that with was his master, but if his master approved, he might open up his mind to others, as long as he could trust them. It wouldn’t be exactly like his training bond with his master, but Anakin could use some adult friends.

* * *

When he had almost run out of sweet brandy for Naboo kaf, Obi-Wan paid Supreme Chancellor Palpatine another visit, this time of his own accord. Even though they had only met around the time of the Battle of Naboo, which was a little less than a year ago, he already felt like the chancellor was a familiar part of his life, as if he had always been there. It was rare to feel that way around someone who wasn’t a fellow Jedi.

“I hear your apprentice is making good progress. It must be rewarding to watch his incredible talent blossom.” Supreme Chancellor Palpatine smiled in a friendly grandfatherly way that invited confidence.

“Yes, thank the Force. I’ve been blessed with mentors teaching me how to be a good master to him. I worry about the lack of suitable age peers, though. Anakin is more gifted than the average youngling of his age, but much younger than the padawans of his skill level. I’m afraid he doesn’t quite fit in anywhere.”

“He is lucky in the adults he has in his life.” The chancellor was all smiles. “You look a little tired, though. I hope you’re not working too hard.” The chancellor did not mention trouble sleeping, but the suggestion was there. Obi-Wan was grateful that the chancellor had put the question in terms of working too hard, because he didn’t really want to explain how or why sleeping was not a big worry anymore. Anakin’s nightmares, which had largely subsided, were none of the chancellor’s business, and the way Obi-Wan’s nightcap gradually increased in amount was not something he wanted to discuss in public.

“Not really. I’m focused on Anakin nowadays, no missions. He has classes with other junior padawans, but the rest of the time I teach him to meditate, to swim, the basics he’ll need before lightsaber training, and how to use the Archives. It’s busy, but pleasant and varied.” Obi-Wan cupped his hands to his forehead and scooped his hair back. If he looked tired, his shaggy hair might be to blame. He hadn’t cut it for almost a year, so that the front pieces reached down to the middle of his cheeks. Master Dooku recently commented on it again making him look bedraggled and dangerously close to Qui-Gon territory, but it was useful for camouflaging that morning-after look. The shadow cast by floppy hair in his face hid undereye circles.

Again, the generous chancellor sent him off with a parting gift that came in a bottle. He claimed that he received a large number of gifts from people who didn’t know that he didn’t drink very much, at least, not at his age, because it wouldn’t do to fall and break a bone. It was impossible to tell exactly how old he was, but prudence was a sensible precaution.

* * *

As soon as Kenobi left, Darth Sidious put in another order. He knew that the young man would be back sooner than he thought, and not simply because he enjoyed the company of his fake chancellor persona. Kenobi was making as much progress as could be hoped, given how little volume he drank even a year ago. At this rate, he would be easily manipulated or even turned if his access to alcohol were at stake. Once the Jedi bigwigs became aware of his drinking and tried to limit it, he might be willing to betray them all if it meant he could have an unlimited supply. Keeping him perpetually intoxicated as a Sith apprentice would maintain his status as an apprentice who would never be sober or alert enough to unseat his master.

That had been the trouble with Darth Maul. He was a little too competent for comfort, which was why Darth Sidious had sent him to Naboo to be killed or injured. As it turned out, he had been cut in two but not outright killed, so that he could develop a useful dependence on pain medication that made him easier to control. He had accomplished his mission, which was to kill Jinn but not Kenobi, although he did not know that this was his true job. Best of all, his anger and hate centered on Kenobi and not his master. His timing had been important—he had to make sure that Kenobi took on the boy before he was ready, to increase his vulnerability.


	4. Dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adulting is hard, especially when you're always drunk or hung-over. Even if you're Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan had been dreading the day when he got a call from the Halls of Healing. Anakin had gotten himself hurt in a sparring match with a padawan older and bigger than him in Master Drallig’s class, because he had decided at the last minute not to use the Force at all. His intentions had been honorable: he knew that he could seriously injure people when he channeled the Force into his moves, and that this was inappropriate for a practice match.

This didn’t make it any easier for Obi-Wan. He took several large swigs from his thermos before he reached the Halls of Healing. “Master Che? I’ve come to see Anakin. Is he all right?”

“He’ll live. If he’s anything like you, he’d better get used to these Halls, because he’ll be spending a lot of time here before he’s knighted. What about you? Are you sure you’re all right?”

There it was again. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine, except that I’ve been worried sick about my padawan.” Obi-Wan didn’t mean for his tone to sound so snippy. He felt a need to act extra peppy to compensate when he’d had more than a little nip, however justified he was in fortifying himself.

“Ah, the devoted master. What a lucky boy.” Master Che had a devastating deadpan delivery that she sometimes used when she thought people were being ridiculous or overprotective. With a casual toss of her lekku, she beckoned to Obi-Wan to follow her to Anakin’s bed.

“Anakin, how are you feeling?” Obi-Wan knelt down by Anakin’s bedside and took the boy’s hand. Anakin was sitting up on a bed, a large bacta cast on his ankle. He was a bit pale but looked lucid enough.

“All right, I guess. I’m sorry, Master. I made you worry. It’s just a sprain, I promise. I’ll go back to work, work just as hard, no, harder—” There was fear in Anakin’s eyes. As much as Obi-Wan hated the Halls of Healing, his reaction was generally one of annoyance, not terror. He realized with a start that Anakin was pleading with him not to sell him to another master as a useless injured slave.

“No need to apologize. Actually, I’m the one who should apologize. I should have been observing your class. I knew you were the youngest and smallest. I’m glad you’re not worse off, but even if you were, I’d still be proud of you for what you did today. You tried to control your Force reliance to avoid hurting someone unnecessarily. That was the right thing to do.”

“Master, you mean, I’m still going to be your padawan?” Anakin’s eyes widened, then brimmed with tears as he squeezed his master’s hand harder.

“Of course. You’re stuck with me until one or both of us are dead, maybe even after that. You’ll still be my padawan even long after you’re a knight with a padawan of your own.”

“Like my mother.” It was easy to see the gears turning in Anakin’s mind. The boy was still learning how to shield his thoughts and emotions.

“In a way, yes.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath. _Here we go, master. Are you proud of me for imparting your grandpadawan with a new brand of heresy?_

Anakin hurt was quieter than usual, but not for long. He was released into Obi-Wan’s care by evening, by which point the bacta cast had helped speed along the natural healing enough that Anakin could walk, as long as he leaned on his master. Anakin didn’t want to face curious eyes at the refectory that night, so they decided to go to Dex’s Diner to cheer themselves up.

When they arrived, Dex could see that Anakin was not up to the usual bone-shattering hug, so he contented himself with making encouraging remarks about how much Anakin had grown and his physical courage, and slapping Obi-Wan on the back and teasing about going grey early.

“I’m not going to go grey, Dex. I’m a ginger. Gingers don’t go grey, they fade to blond and then to white. Besides, I’m only twenty-six.” Obi-Wan was happy to engage in banter as a release for his worry from earlier in the afternoon.

Flo must have picked up on his relief, or perhaps her programming told her that human adults in parent roles experienced enough worry to shorten their lifespans by at least a decade when their charges had been in danger or pain. She didn’t have to be told to keep his cup of Jawa Juice filled up.

By the time they got back to their quarters, Obi-Wan was much more openly affectionate than usual, which was exactly what Anakin needed. He kept his arm wrapped around the boy even in the speeder, when he didn’t need to help Anakin walk, and ruffled his hair twice. For his part, Anakin was more receptive to his master’s touch than usual. He had decided that Obi-Wan was functionally his dad, and was pleased to finally have someone in that role.

After Obi-Wan put Anakin to bed in his own room, he breathed a sigh of relief. The boy was all right. He had considered letting him sleep in his bed with him, but decided against it out of fear of rolling over onto Anakin’s ankle in his sleep. Besides, Anakin’s survival called for a bit more private celebration. Obi-Wan fished out one of the bottles from under his bed. An alarming number of them were empty, but Obi-Wan had yet to work out a discreet way of disposing of them without attracting attention.

He still felt good when he changed into his sleep clothes, although it took longer than it should to get his legs into the right places without falling down. It was only when he tried to brush his teeth and accidentally triggered his gag reflex that he started to feel the cumulative effects of too much greasy food and too much to drink that day. He didn’t want his retching to wake Anakin, but the effort of holding it in made him feel worse. He was going to be sick into the toilet. Obi-Wan finally lost the battle to keep his dinner down, although he managed to hold out until he was quite sure that Anakin was asleep and put effort into maintaining his mental shields so that his padawan wouldn’t feel his physical symptoms with him.

Obi-Wan leaned over the toilet bowl and emptied his stomach. He felt better almost immediately, until he sat upright and felt the slimy wetness hit his cheek. Yuck. He had sick in his hair. That meant that he must have sick in his beard as well. Obi-Wan held onto the sink next to the toilet to pull himself up into a standing position—slowly. He still felt nauseous, but he needed to get cleaned up.

A glance in the mirror confirmed his suspicions. Obi-Wan knew he couldn’t handle a shower in his current state, at least not quietly, so he would have to try to wash it out in the sink. This would be so much easier if he had pulled his hair back before he started hurling into the toilet, or if he didn’t have a beard. No, stay focused on the present. The Living Force. He would just have to do the best he could. And drink less, starting from tomorrow. This was getting out of hand.

The hangover he woke up with put an end to any hopes he had of starting the day without topping up the alcohol levels in his blood. Anakin needed him to be functional. That meant no dizzy headaches, no gut-clutching nausea, no excess sensitivity to light and sound. Obi-Wan knew he would look bad that day, but that could just as easily have been the result of a poor night’s sleep due to worry about his injured padawan. At least he remembered everything that happened the day before.

He splashed some water on his face, getting the front pieces of his hair wet again in the process. This was annoying, but at least this time it was water. He took a few centering breaths, then dressed for the day before popping his head in Anakin’s room. “How are you feeling, padawan?” _I hope you’re doing better today. I don’t know how much of this I can take._

“Better, Master. You had a bad night, didn’t you? You were worried about me.”

“Yes, I was, but I’m glad you’re doing better.” Obi-Wan realized that his mental shields weren’t as strong drunk as he thought they were. Anakin had picked up only a hint of his distress but not the intensity or nature of it.

Anakin returned to Master Drallig’s class that day, but only as an observer. Obi-Wan decided that he should observe as well. This was enlightening. The junior padawans looked so much smaller and younger than Obi-Wan remembered being at that age, until he recalled that he had been older but not bigger than everyone else when he first joined the junior padawan class. Being a bit small for his age was an advantage for fitting in visually, but not much else. Obi-Wan smiled sadly to himself. He was still a bit small, and would only get smaller when he got old.

Obi-Wan managed to survive all day with only the two cups of Naboo kaf in the morning. See, he could cut back at will. He was all right, as long as Anakin was all right. That was the key.

Both master and apprentice felt much better the following day. Once Anakin’s ankle was healed, Obi-Wan and Anakin were given their first mission together to mark their first anniversary as a master-padawan pair. Master Plo Koon was in charge of the briefing.

“This is almost a standard pick-up mission, but there is a twist. The mother of the baby insisted that the pick-up team pose as civilians and that the procedure be made to look like a custody dispute between a divorcing couple. You were chosen because you are both young enough to look plausible. Except, Knight Kenobi, you look a little too young to be Padawan Skywalker’s father.”

Master Yoda chuckled in his seat, eyes closed, then proceeded to stare at Obi-Wan. Perhaps he was trying to imagine him as a dad fighting a custody battle. To have a son Anakin’s age, he would need to look a little older, unless he had been a teenaged dad. The beard helped, but the shaggy hair did not.

“Disguises you need. Call your master ‘Dad’ you will, young Skywalker. Faith in you this Council has.”

As soon as they left the Council chambers, Anakin grabbed onto Obi-Wan’s arm and began to laugh. “This is exciting, Dad.”

“Keep calm. I’m not sure about this. I know we can act like father and son, but I’ve never lived in a family situation outside the Temple. I’ll need your experience and instincts.”

Anakin stopped in his tracks and stared at his master. “You never met your parents? Do you know what planet you came from or if you had any siblings?”

“I have no memory of my mother or father. My medical files say I was born on Stewjon but I never cared. It doesn’t matter. It matters a little bit to the healers because they want to know what my genetic predispositions are, but the details of my birth family have always been irrelevant. If you want to see how I grew up, we can visit the creche sometime.”

Anakin remained silent in thought for a while, trying to imagine not knowing his mom and not caring. After a while, Obi-Wan spoke again.

“I’ve met couples giving up their Force-sensitive children, but I’ve never seen a custody dispute.”

“Me either. I never had a father before you and Qui-Gon. But I do know what a single mom family is like.”

They picked up their civilian clothes and returned to their quarters to prepare. Anakin’s disguise was easy enough. Having spent the first nine years of his ten-year life outside the Temple, he already had the mannerisms and attitude of a civilian boy. His padawan haircut was easily hidden under a cap, with his still-short padawan braid pinned into a tiny rosette behind his ear.

Obi-Wan’s costume was plain. It needed to be loose enough to hide a lightsaber and unfashionable enough to make him look like a thirty-something dad with better things to do than worry about clothes. Obi-Wan studied his disguise in the mirror and frowned, stroking his beard. He still didn’t look quite right.

“It’s my hair. It’s all wrong for this.” He considered asking Master Dooku for advice, but decided against it. It wouldn’t do to be too dashing. The hair should probably be fairly short. Obi-Wan ran his hands through it, pulling it away from his face. He hadn’t had a drink in a few days and his complexion already looked better. Why not.

Obi-Wan took off his tunic and rummaged through the fresher cabinets. There should be a pair of scissors in there somewhere. Qui-Gon used to take care of split ends himself. Aha, there they are. He also found some of his former master’s hair ties. Good. Obi-Wan gathered up his top hair and tied it up out of the way. The back of his hair almost reached his shoulders now. Obi-Wan grabbed the hair at the base of his neck and began cutting haphazardly. This was harder than he thought.

Anakin watched the proceedings with interest. His master need not have worried about being too fashionable. This was going to be a pretty bad haircut. Obi-Wan struggled to cut the hair around his ears. Anakin’s mom always knew what to do. She was always methodical and quick. “Want me to help, Master?”

“All right. You can see what I’m trying to do. Short back and sides, longer side-parted top. We’ll worry about the top later.” Obi-Wan handed the scissors to Anakin. His apprentice was going to enjoy this role reversal.

At least Anakin could see what he was doing, even if he had even less hairdressing experience than his master. He made quick work of Obi-Wan’s back and sides, pulling his ears down the way his mom used to do. So this was why she did that.

Finally it was time to worry about the top. Anakin gave the scissors back to Obi-Wan, who considered logistics for a while. He pulled out the hair tie, then retied a smaller section of hair toward the back before reaching for another hair tie for the top of his head and a third for the front. Anakin was laughing now. Obi-Wan sliced off the three tiny nerftails sticking straight up from his head and handed the scissors back to Anakin. “Even it out, please.”

When they finished and had cleaned up the mess Obi-Wan put his tunic back on and stood in front of the mirror with his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I guess I can pass as your dad. What do you think?”

Anakin smirked. “We’re going to fool them.”

“Now let’s go pick up your baby sister.”

Master Dooku of all people came to see them off. “Ah, Obi-Wan. Better, but still not good. Tsk, tsk.”

“But do I look like a frazzled dad in the middle of a custody battle?”

“Actually, you do. That’s the look you were going for? Better luck next time. See you boys back here soon.”

When they arrived at their destination, Obi-Wan took a deep breath and pounded on the door of a house, channeling a sliver of the anger he had spent his life learning to release into the Force. A Togruta woman came to the door and immediately started talking excitedly. “If you think I’ll give up my daughter without a fight, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“She’s my daughter too, and I’ve been granted custody of both of the kids. Now, hand her over.”

The woman turned to Anakin. “It’s not too late. You can still come live with Mommy and the baby.”

“No, we’re better off with Dad.”

“You better not be drinking, Ben.” The woman pulled the accusation and the name out of thin air. How did she choose this name, when there was no reason to believe that she would know about Obi-Wan’s personal history? If she were deliberately trying to hurt him, this would be an effective avenue for her to explore. Satine used to call him that as a pet name. Of course, he didn’t drink then.

“No, I haven’t been drinking recently.” This was a little close for comfort, but at least it was true, from a certain point of view. If recently meant the past few days, Obi-Wan was telling the truth. He had to wonder what Anakin thought, if he knew. He had not been close to the boy until after he started to fortify himself in that way, so Anakin wouldn’t know any different.

The woman seemed to be enjoying this. She continued to make a fuss for a while before she handed over the baby. Obi-Wan cradled the baby and began cooing over her in a way that would convince most people that he was indeed the father. Anakin was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy. “Let’s go, Dad.”

With that, the three of them left the woman’s doorway and returned to their vehicle. Obi-Wan let Anakin fly so that he could focus on the baby. She was a Togruta girl with a winning smile and upbeat Force signature. The woman who had handed her over may or may not have been the mother but Obi-Wan steeled himself for the possibility that he would have to claim paternity again. The whole idea of having a child and finding out later seemed strange to him. He hadn’t actually chosen Anakin, but he knew the boy as an individual before they were paired; with a biological child, there was no way to get to know him or her first.

Anakin took a break from the controls to take a good look at the baby. Even he had to admit that his “baby sister” was cute. Almost too cute to be a Jedi. He would be able to visit her in the creche without having to share Obi-Wan with her.

When they arrived back at the Temple and had delivered the child to the creche, Anakin was in a celebratory mood. This was their first successful mission together. He was well on his way to being a proper Jedi now. “Can we go to Dex’s Diner, Da—I mean Master?”

Obi-Wan smiled at his padawan’s mistake. He had been concerned that the boy wouldn’t accept him; after all, he was a poor substitute for Qui-Gon. Now he might have to worry about attachment, but there was no longer any doubt that Anakin saw him as an authority figure. _Force, that’s terrifying. I can barely manage my own life, and now I’m responsible for the Chosen One._

When they sat in their usual booth at Dex’s, Flo pretended not to recognize Obi-Wan. She used to do that as a game when he was a growing boy who looked different every time he came with Qui-Gon. Finally she teased, “You don’t look like Obi-Wan! He always hides his surprisingly handsome face behind long shaggy hair. No, sir, you don’t look like him at all. You hide your handsomeness with a bad DIY haircut instead. Strange how a good-looking knight can manage to always have self-inflicted hairstyles that are worse than the padawan cut.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I did go undercover, but it can’t be as bad as all that. Besides, I didn’t do it entirely by myself. I got Anakin to help.” He heard Dex’s voice booming in the kitchen, demanding to see the latest follicular outrage and making somewhat inappropriate comments about Obi-Wan needing drastic measures to keep himself from being mobbed by women. Neither Dex nor Flo had any hair of their own so they found human hair fascinating.

Flo brought Jawa Juice as usual. Obi-Wan knew she would and debated what to do. He had earned a drink. Besides, he could go a few days without alcohol, proving that he didn’t really have a problem. Still, Obi-Wan remembered that he no longer had floppy hair to hide behind. He would take the drink offered, but take it slowly. When it was time to leave Obi-Wan drained his cup before standing up. It wouldn’t do to let good Jawa Juice go to waste.

Going home that night Obi-Wan was proud of himself for sticking with his one-drink limit. He knew that if he had a second drink, the chances of his having a third would increase exponentially, and so on. With just one, he didn’t even feel buzzed at all. Anakin was in a good mood, and thus less likely to have nightmares. He would be able to sleep tonight.

“Where is my daughter? Kenobi, what have you done with her!” An irate man with horns on his head and red and black face tattoos brandished a red lightsaber.

“She’s safe, in good hands. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Good hands? Jedi hands, you mean. The only good Jedi is a dead one. My daughter is Sith spawn, when she grows old enough she will help me massacre you Jedi scum, and you’ll fail to stop us, the way you failed to kill me the first time! Hahaha!”

Obi-Wan woke up with a start. The last time he struggled with a nightmare like this was immediately after his master’s death. Did this mean that Darth Maul was alive? No, that was impossible. Besides, Darth Maul was a Zabrak, he couldn’t have a Togruta daughter.

Right after Qui-Gon’s death Obi-Wan had felt like a complete failure, unworthy to be knighted, and ridiculously immature for having been jealous of Anakin’s sudden position as Qui-Gon’s favorite. Then he had felt terrified about being Anakin’s master when he was only twenty-five and still so traumatized by his loss at the hands of the Sith. Lately he felt better about things but he still had a nagging feeling that he was in over his head. Now he was directly responsible for admitting a baby girl to the Order. If she ever grew up to question her life as a Jedi, would she come to resent him? What kind of life could she have had? With Anakin, it was obvious that the Jedi life was better than slavery on Tatooine, although having his mother with him must have made it more bearable, instead of having to pretend to like a near-stranger who wasn’t really old enough to be his father and hadn’t been the one who convinced the boy to leave behind everything he knew in the first place.

Obi-Wan got out of bed, rummaged through the collection of bottles underneath, and took a swig from the first non-empty one he found. He didn’t care what it was, although it turned out to be Bothan rum. There, that’s better. Now, go back to sleep.

In the morning Anakin was still in a cheerful mood, while Obi-Wan was doing his best to shield his thoughts and emotions from his nightmare. Usually Anakin was too restless to eat much breakfast and Obi-Wan found himself lecturing him about being grateful to have food and that he didn’t have to eat Qui-Gon’s cooking. Lectures that began “When I was your age, I was already responsible for cooking because Qui-Gon’s Master Dooku never taught him” had a way of making Obi-Wan feel much older than he was, especially when his statements weren’t entirely true.

“I like to see you eat like that.” Obi-Wan forced himself to smile and match Anakin’s mood. He didn’t want his padawan to worry about him.

Obi-Wan took his data pad with him to observe Anakin’s morning classes so that he could write his mission report. He would explain it to Anakin before submitting it, but it would be easier to explain if he had a finished report to show.

Obi-Wan again joined Anakin’s swimming class, going into the water as before. The cool water felt good against his skin and helped him feel more awake. It was also much more convenient not having to deal with long, wet hair sticking to his face or escaping from a swimming cap. Anakin was getting braver in the water, but he still wanted Obi-Wan to walk behind him in the lane as he practiced with a kickboard. The temptation to cheat by using the Force was strong, but Anakin was beginning to understand that the stronger and more skilled he was without it, the more he could do with its help.

Later in the afternoon Obi-Wan worked some more on Anakin’s practice exercises and basic katas. Teaching the basics to a child forced him to take extra care. No wonder training a padawan all the way to knighthood was a requirement for becoming a master. Obi-Wan felt like he was learning the katas for the first time again, except with more experience and understanding this time. He still wasn’t entirely sure that he was worthy of being Anakin’s master, but he was certainly trying his best.

In the evening Obi-Wan went over his mission report with Anakin. “Do you think I missed any important details? Do you see the way I structured the report to make it easier to read?”

“I think you have all the facts. Let’s see, it’s in chronological order but you wrote where, when, who, why, what, and how right in the introduction. Why did you do that? Don’t you think people will be satisfied right away and stop reading?”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “The report will be sent to the Council. The Council members are all very busy. They probably won’t read it to the end anyway. That’s why I put the main facts in the beginning and explain them in order with subheadings—so that readers can get the idea just from skimming the report.”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “Then why do you have to write a report if nobody’s going to read it?”

“Even if nobody reads it now, if anything happens to that little girl or something happens that makes her origins relevant, then the information will be there, on file, ready to be consulted when needed. The Force works in mysterious ways. Even if something seems insignificant when it happens, sometimes it’s part of a larger pattern that’s important.”

Anakin seemed satisfied with this answer. He began to yawn at the living room table across from Obi-Wan. It was good to know a new way of getting Anakin ready to fall asleep.

Obi-Wan, however, was not so lucky or serene. He dreamed about Anakin drowning on Naboo while Qui-Gon fought Darth Maul; torn between his master and his padawan Obi-Wan had been unable to move. Then, suddenly, a crowd of younglings appeared out of nowhere and began pulling Obi-Wan’s robes in all directions until his cloak was in shreds. Indecision would cause him to lose everything he valued. He remained frozen until Darth Maul cut Qui-Gon down with his lightsaber, then began massacring the younglings. Obi-Wan leaped away from the scene and towards where Anakin was drowning. Stay in the here and now, focus on the Living Force.


	5. Coping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His gift is his song. The Outlander Club is no Moulin Rouge, unfortunately.

Obi-Wan did not wake up with a start, but he still felt uneasy the next morning. He submitted his report and tried to push the nightmare out of his head. A cup of Naboo kaf would help. Oh yes. That reminded him of his standing invitation to visit Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. Obi-Wan pulled one of the empty bottles out from under the bed and hid it in his cloak. He would dispose of it in a dumpster along the way. If he brought more than one, the bottles would clink against each other.

When he called on the good chancellor that morning after sending Anakin off to class, Sheev Palpatine gave him a big smile. “It’s good to see you again. Ah, you changed your hair.”

“Yes, I cut it for a mission. It was a good first mission for Anakin.”

“Is that so. I’m glad his training is going well. I hope it’s not too much of a burden on you, though.”

 _I must look tired again._ “No, I’ve been learning a lot. They say the best way to learn is to teach, and I can see it’s true. Anakin’s even making progress in swimming. He surprised himself because he didn’t think a boy from Tatooine could learn.”

“That’s wonderful. It would be terrible if he grew up without learning to swim and ended up drowning on a mission.”

How did the chancellor know about Obi-Wan’s most recent nightmare? “Actually, I had a nightmare about Anakin drowning. I know he won’t, because he’s learning in a safe environment, but I can’t stop worrying. During our mission we had to pose as father and son, so I guess that rubbed off on me. I actually felt like his father.”

The chancellor chuckled. “The boy is lucky to have you as his master. You stepped into the role and have played it so well, it’s easy to forget how young you are. Knight Kenobi, if you don’t mind my asking a personal question. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. I’m told I look much younger but most of the time I feel much older.” Obi-Wan gave a small, bitter smile.

“Twenty-six! My, how mature and responsible you are for such a young man! At your age, you should be having fun, enjoying the freedom of young adult life without the responsibilities of raising children. Most young men your age are still going to parties and nightclubs, and the ones who aren’t Jedi are dating. I hope you don’t look back on this time in your life and regret all the many sacrifices you made, not having had much of a youth.”

Obi-Wan considered this for a moment. “I’ve never been much for parties or nightclubs. I do enjoy myself. You have been a huge help in that department.” He flashed what he hoped was a mischievous smile.

“I’m glad to have been of service. Before you go, I have something for you. The Trade Federation have been trying to promote this new brand of rum brewed by the Gungans on my planet, but it’s not selling as well as they hoped. I’m no connoisseur of rum, but I thought it was all right. I’d like to know what you think. Here are some other brands for comparison.”

The chancellor had already wrapped everything up so that Obi-Wan could take it home discreetly. How thoughtful of the kind old chancellor. Obi-Wan thanked him profusely for his time and generous gifts, and excused himself, citing the chancellor’s surely very busy schedule.

* * *

As soon as the young Jedi knight left Darth Sidious began to grin. This was going even better than expected. The Togruta woman had responded to the anonymous threats to her baby by demanding a camouflaged pickup, and the dreams planted in the heads of several Council members had ensured that Kenobi and Skywalker would be made to pose as father and son, furthering the excessive attachment between them.

This was necessary in order for Kenobi to be made to feel guilty and conflicted about resenting the premature loss of his youth. He was clearly already trying to look middle-aged to reflect his role and his self-image as the boy’s master, right when he was on the cusp of entering his most attractive years. Such a waste. If he wanted to, he could have a wonderful time in any of the bars on Coruscant. He seemed to have taken well to alcohol and had a motive to deliberately build up tolerance: namely, to evade detection. On the other hand, having bonded with the boy and even with the Togruta baby, he may well decide he wants a family of his own. This could be used as a way to turn him.

* * *

Obi-Wan hid the new rum bottles under his bed and removed another one of the empties to dispose of somewhere. There wasn’t much room left under the bed for new acquisitions. He would have to make several trips, preferably to outside of the Temple. He had originally thought of doing this at night, but Anakin’s tendency towards nightmares made it hard to justify sneaking out in the middle of the night. No, he would have to do this by daylight. As long as he removed empties faster than he acquired new bottles, he would be able to make a dent.

He was able to make two trips before lunchtime. Anakin was still in a good mood when they met for lunch. “What did you learn today? Did you remember to turn in your extra homework from when we were on the mission?”

“Of course I did, Master. You made sure I did. We’re learning about the difference between the Living Force and the Unifying Force, but I don’t think it matters. The Force is the Force, isn’t it?”

“Wow, that’s a big topic. Well, Qui-Gon was very strong in the Living Force, so he focused on what felt right moment to moment. It’s a very practical approach to the Force. He had a feeling when he met you that it was the right thing to do to bring you home. He didn’t worry about how or why, or what would become of you. It was right in the moment and it was right in front of him. I’m stronger in the Unifying Force, which is more contemplative and focused on the big picture. Like our latest mission. Whether I get a feeling about that little girl isn’t important, it’s the big picture of the situation, in which her mother recognized that she was Force-sensitive and was getting threats, that convinced me to follow the order from the Council to go pick her up. Does that help? It’ll take a lifetime to truly understand either one.”

Anakin frowned. “You mean, if it had been up to you, maybe you wouldn’t have brought me into the Order? Would you have left me a slave on Tatooine if you thought that was better for everyone else but me?”

Obi-Wan was put at a loss. What would he have done in Qui-Gon’s position? He didn’t think it was wise to tell the boy that he would have been happy to leave him there and not get distracted from his mission, but he couldn’t exactly tell him that Qui-Gon was always adopting all sorts of living things so that Anakin wasn’t special. “Well, people who are stronger in the Unifying Force also pay attention to prophesies, and there was a prophecy that seemed like it might be about you, so I probably would have brought you into the Order too, but for different reasons.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Anakin. “But how did you know the prophecy was about me when it was Qui-Gon who found me?”

“I didn’t know for certain it was about you. In fact, I still don’t. But I can meditate about it and get an idea of what it’s all about. Maybe the prophecy has nothing to do with you, but I would say it was still the will of the Force to bring you into the Order and into my life. This is why meditation is important.”

Anakin made a face, but put his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely comfortable about this show of affection in the refectory, but he still put an arm around his apprentice in response. He shouldn’t smell too much of alcohol today, since he hadn’t had a drink with Supreme Chancellor Palpatine and had been careful last night.

In the afternoon after Anakin’s junior padawan class with Master Drallig, Obi-Wan met him to take him to his favorite spot in the Temple gardens to meditate. “Focus on your breathing, in and out, in and out. Try to match my breaths if you can. If you let down your mental shields a bit like we practiced, I can show you the mental pictures that I use to enter a meditative state. When you get used to meditating, you’ll be able to do it even in the middle of a sparring match or battle.”

“But why would I want to meditate in the middle of an exciting battle?”

“It helps ground you in the Force and will make you stronger and more accurate in battle. I couldn’t have defeated Darth Maul if I didn’t have years of meditation as well as years of training with a lightsaber.” This wasn’t entirely true, in the sense that Obi-Wan had yelled and channeled his anger when he Force-leaped back up to where Maul was and cut him in half, which was more of a Dark Side approach, but Anakin wasn’t ready for the unsavory details of how life is messy that way.

Obi-Wan began with an image of a tree. He got closer and closer to the tree, focusing on an individual branch, then a twig, then finally down to the square plant cells in the twig, thrumming with life. He could hear Anakin trying to match his breaths. So far so good. Once Anakin entered into the correct state, Obi-Wan opened up his own mental shields a bit to allow the images in Anakin’s mind to reach himself through their training bond.

Only ten minutes into the session, Anakin’s breathing and heartrate began to show signs of distress as the images in his mind shifted from the tree to desert sand and a big, slimy space slug. One of the Hutts, no doubt. Then the scene shifted again and Anakin was seeing a Mon Calamari water ballet, which should have been calming, but he continued to show signs of apprehension. Obi-Wan heard snippets of a semi-familiar voice saying words such as “wouldn’t learn,” “the story of,” and “killed his Master.” Was Anakin seeing the planning of Darth Maul’s attack on Qui-Gon?

Obi-Wan decided to end the session early, not wanting to traumatize the boy. No wonder his padawan didn’t like meditation. He would need to be more careful about shielding the boy from his own traumatic memories. Obi-Wan had plenty of those, which he managed to keep under wraps most of the time. This was easier now that he had ways of cheating not available to him when he was a teenage padawan. When he was thrust into the middle of a civil war without his master at the age of thirteen, he didn’t really have many coping strategies, but after he had met and fell in love with Satine, memories of her kiss and their songs could help calm him. The trouble with that strategy, however, was that it meant replacing fear and anger with sadness and loss. Alcohol worked much better for shutting down his mind. Unfortunately, Anakin was way too young to benefit from it.

Obi-Wan tried to put a brave face on it, but in reality he was more troubled by Anakin’s visions than the boy himself was. Then again, Obi-Wan was the only person who had fought a Sith in the last thousand years and lived to tell the tale. He didn’t like to talk about it, especially to the younglings or even padawans, because it wasn’t glorious and heroic at all. It was troubling and traumatic.

That night, Obi-Wan was concerned about Anakin having a nightmare again, but it was Obi-Wan himself who ended up dreaming yet again about the Battle of Naboo and the fight with Darth Maul, seeing his master be cut down right in front of him, then breathe his last in Obi-Wan’s arms. This time the whole thing was set to the music of _Squid Lake_ , the ballet from Anakin’s vision. Anakin couldn’t possibly have seen any performances of it growing up on Tatooine and then in the Temple. Obi-Wan had seen it, but only because he was older and had more experience with senators and their refined tastes.

Obi-Wan could not get back to sleep. He reached down under his bed and grabbed a half-full bottle of Corellian whiskey. That would do. He ended up drinking more of it than intended, trying to dull his mind enough to sleep. To his surprise, he kept drinking straight from the bottle compulsively until it was empty.

Obi-Wan still couldn’t get back to sleep. He was almost glad when Anakin padded into his bedroom and demanded a song. “What kind of song?”

“A happy one.”

“The only happy songs I know are drinking songs.” As soon as he said it, Obi-Wan regretted it. He probably smelled of whiskey; the last thing he wanted was for Anakin to start asking questions about how he knew so many drinking songs. It was a fair question. Even though Anakin would not know that Qui-Gon had not been a drinker, it didn’t feel fair to falsely blame a dead man who still meant so much to both of them. If Anakin asked, Obi-Wan would simply say that he had learned them by going on missions with his master all over the galaxy.

“That’s OK, as long as it’s happy.”

Obi-Wan chose a Corellian drinking song, probably suggested by the whiskey he had been drinking. His voice wasn’t as clear as he remembered, but then, he was tipsy and it was the middle of the night. Satine had told him all those years ago that Mandalorian women were more impressed by a man’s singing voice than his fighting skill, since skilled Mandalorian mercenaries were so common. Light, clear tenor voices were the most prized—exactly the type of voice that Obi-Wan had.

Obi-Wan felt better after he finished his song. Maybe that was what Anakin’s intention was all along.

“Now it’s my turn. My mom taught me a lullaby traditional on Tatooine.” Anakin’s singing was not technically skillful but it was still soothing. Obi-Wan drifted off to sleep before Anakin finished his song. When he realized that his master had fallen asleep, Anakin quietly returned to his own room.

* * *

On the second anniversary of Qui-Gon’s death, Obi-Wan found himself on edge for most of the day. He thought that seeing the cute little crechelings would help, so when Anakin’s afternoon classes got out he took his padawan to visit the creche. “This is where I grew up. Some of my earliest memories are centered on this room. Hey, let’s see if that little Togruta baby is here. She must be a year old by now.”

It wasn’t too difficult to find her. She was still a beautiful little thing. Obi-Wan was relieved to see her looking happy and healthy. So far she didn’t have any resentments about the Jedi Order. That was ridiculous, it was only a nightmare anyway. Of course she wouldn’t remember them, but that was all right. Obi-Wan also took it upon himself to show Anakin the nursery for slightly older younglings. There was another Togruta girl in there, maybe seven years old, who was Force-jumping off of furniture. The crechemaster was calling out after her, “Ahsoka! Stop!”

Anakin smirked. He could imagine himself acting like that at that age if he had been growing up here. “Master, you were a good boy, weren’t you?”

“I’m not sure. That depends on your definition.” Obi-Wan wasn’t about to tell Anakin all the rather serious trouble he had gotten into as a youngling and junior padawan. Most of the incidents were the result of other people attacking him or of Obi-Wan getting angry at what he perceived as injustice, but that was more deadly than simple mischief. Except, of course, for Satine. If Qui-Gon hadn’t eventually come for him, he would probably have tried to make their secret union official, even though they were both underage. If he saw her again now, he might still be tempted to choose life with her. No, it was better for everyone if he kept her as a beautiful memory.

Later, Anakin went to the Archives with some homework while Obi-Wan went back to their quarters to make dinner. Obi-Wan was all right as long as he was out and about with Anakin, but when he was alone in the apartment he used to share with Qui-Gon before Anakin, the sadness was overwhelming. Obi-Wan had lost his master and he had given up Satine. He might lose Anakin too eventually, since he seemed to lose everyone he loved. Sitting on his bed, he breathed in the spicy scent of the hair oil that he had inherited from his master. Going into the kitchen wouldn’t help, as the smell of the tea they both loved had infiltrated into the very walls of the place.

Obi-Wan reached under his bed. In general he did a credible job of not binge-drinking his entire stash in one go, but today he discovered that he only had left the remainders of the rum collection he had received from Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. Obi-Wan opened all of the bottles and took a swig from each, then put them down again. Before he knew it, there was less than a quarter left in each bottle. He really needed to stop, but he couldn’t. His hand moved independently of his brain, bringing the bottles up to his lips, which also disobeyed him by receiving the burning liquid into his mouth. He really didn’t mean to swallow, but once he had the rum in his mouth, there was nowhere else for it to go.

When he had run out of rum entirely, Obi-Wan realized with a shudder what he had done. He couldn’t let Anakin see him in this state. He took one of the bottles to discard and hid the rest, then set off to walk off his intoxication. With any luck Anakin would get bogged down in his research and not be home for a while.

To his dismay, Obi-Wan discovered that he was walking through the streets of seedy lower-level Coruscant, on auto-pilot to one of his old haunts. He really shouldn’t. And yet, he found himself entering a bar and sitting down. Obi-Wan had already had quite enough, and yet he soon had his face buried in a glass of Corellian whiskey.

When Anakin got home, there was no sign of Obi-Wan anywhere. He searched in the refectory, in the gardens, in the dojo, in all the places he knew his master went regularly. Finally he knocked on Master Dooku’s door. “Excuse me, sir. I can’t find my master anywhere. I was wondering if he might be here.”

Master Dooku’s eyes widened. “You can’t find him? Have you looked for him?”

“Everywhere. I looked all over the Temple. He was supposed to be home making dinner, but he wasn’t there when I got back from the Archives.”

“Have you tried to locate him with your training bond?”

“Yes, but his Force signature is too hazy. I don’t know what happened to him.” Anakin struggled to hold back tears.

Master Dooku raised an eyebrow. A hazy Force signature could be caused by several things, but given the date, one possibility in particular stood out in his mind. “He may not be in the Temple. I don’t have a direct training bond with him, and since Qui-Gon is dead I can’t get to him through Qui-Gon, but I can guess where he might be. Do you want to come with me to look for him?”

“Yes, please, Master Dooku. I’m worried. This isn’t like him at all. He’s never disappeared like this in the two years we’ve been paired.”

The two left the Temple compound, making an odd pair, an elderly but still suave tall Jedi master and an eleven-year-old boy. Anakin’s eyes widened as they worked their way down to the seedier levels of the city, to places the boy had never been. He didn’t question why Master Dooku seemed to know the disreputable part of town so well, or how he knew which bars served Jedi.

After a fairly short search, the pair found Obi-Wan slumped over his drink in a bar, red kiss marks on his cheek and nose. He was not coherent or lucid enough to leave the establishment of his own accord, so Master Dooku settled his tab and dragged him out to the speeder. Anakin sat in the passenger seat with Obi-Wan sprawled out in the back of the vehicle.

“Does he do this often?” Master Dooku asked. “His bill was pretty impressive when I settled it for him.”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve never seen him in this state before. He’s never gone missing before, either.”

“I think he did this because today is the anniversary of Qui-Gon’s death. I hope he learns better coping skills than this. He better not make this behavior his default reaction to grief.”

Obi-Wan gurgled inchoately when Master Dooku laid him down on his bed. He looked around the room that used to belong to his former padawan. It was pretty much the way Qui-Gon had left it, down to the smell of his hair oil. There was a jar of it sitting on the nightstand, just as before. Obi-Wan himself had probably smelled of it before he went out to drown his sorrows, judging by the way he typically camouflaged a badly-cut coiffure by slicking down parts that didn’t behave. Now, however, he looked like a mess with his rumpled clothes, red, tear-stained face, and disheveled hair. Seeing him passed out like this, Master Dooku was struck by how young Obi-Wan still looked. Force, he looked young because he _was_ young, and clearly still struggling with the teachings about attachments.

Anakin was hungry, so Master Dooku took him to the refectory, leaving Obi-Wan to sleep off his stupor. “It’s not like my master to do that. I’ve seen him have some Jawa Juice at Dex’s Diner, but I’ve never seen him like this.”

Master Dooku made a disapproving face. “Dex’s Diner? He takes you there? He must have learned that from Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon only went there because he knew Dex, though. He didn’t drink Jawa Juice. I only went there once, with Qui-Gon. Once was enough for me.”

Anakin smiled. It was not hard to imagine that a greasy diner run by shady characters would be unappealing to a man of aristocratic sensibilities like Master Dooku. Anakin hadn’t known enough about the habits of Master Jinn to guess which of Obi-Wan’s practices were purely his own, which were from Master Jinn, and which were common to their entire lineage.

“Master Dooku, do you ever drink Jawa Juice? It always seems to put my master in a good mood.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t drink alcohol of any kind. Qui-Gon didn’t, either. I can take credit for that.” Master Dooku gave a sad little smile that suggested that there was more to the story than that, but that he wasn’t going to tell the details. “If Obi-Wan starts acting strangely or you ever feel like he is endangering you or himself, let me know. I really hope this is a one-time indiscretion on his part. I know he’s still so young, but he’s usually responsible. Normally when a knight takes his first padawan his own former master helps him figure it out, but Qui-Gon isn’t available to help. He ought to know that he can come to me. Well, let’s go back and check up on him.”

Obi-Wan was still asleep when they returned to the apartment. Since he showed no sign of waking up any time soon, Master Dooku tucked Anakin in and went back to his quarters. He sat for a long time in his living room in the lotus position, meditating on how he had missed the signs of distress in his grandpadawan. How someone whose home was so immaculately neat and tidy, except for Anakin’s room, could himself look and act like such a mess was not easily explained, unless there was something serious bothering him.


	6. Master Dooku Cares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making small changes while avoiding the changes that matter. Grandpa Dooku misses Qui-Gon, too.

Obi-Wan awoke with a start with a terrible hangover, but was relieved to find himself at home in bed, even if he was still wearing his clothes from the previous day. At least he wasn’t still wearing his boots. The last thing he remembered was a skanky blonde woman who looked a bit like Satine in his drunken state. She had approached him at the bar and started stroking his hair the way Satine did, so he let her kiss him on the cheek, but when he looked into her face at closer range, he discovered that she was in fact not much like Satine at all. The tattoos on her face indicated that she was a Zabrak, not a Mandalorian human. She had persisted in kissing him, moving on to his nose and lips, but she had gotten discouraged when he was too drunk to go beyond that. He had no idea how he had gotten home. Oh no, Anakin. The poor boy could very well have seen him drunk as a lord.

Obi-Wan tried to get up out of bed, but his head was too heavy. He reached under his bed, only to remember that he had drunk all of his reserves as well. Oh no. He began probing the training bond with Anakin to see if the boy was awake.

Within five minutes, Anakin was in his room, by his bedside. “Master! You’re awake! I came back here during my lunch break to see if you were all right. I got myself up and to class this morning. I’m a big boy now, I can make my own breakfast. I’ve seen you do it enough times to know how it’s done. Master Dooku was here last night to help, too. I’ll tell him you’re fine if I see him after class.”

“Master Dooku was here?” This was getting worse by the minute. Not only was it now noon, but Master Dooku had seen Obi-Wan in his compromised state. If Master Dooku had looked under his bed, he would know Obi-Wan’s terrible secret. How could he possibly face his grand-master again?

When he was finally able to get up and stumble into the fresher, he was horrified by what he found. He looked half-dead and at least a decade older. No, maybe more. A shower would help, but there was no disguising that telltale lined look in his face or his red, bloodshot eyes. At least his beard hid half of his ashy face, and if he didn’t slick back his hair, he could hide an additional third of his face with his long fringe. He smelled terrible too. These clothes would have to be aired out for a while before he sent them to the laundry, unless he wanted the laundry droids to file a report about him.

After a shower and a change of clothes, he looked and felt about as good as he could get in his condition, so he set to work smuggling his empty bottles out of the apartment one by one. This took a lot of time and energy out of him, but it had to be done, especially given the possibility that Master Dooku might come check up on him.

Once he was satisfied that he had eliminated any incriminating evidence, Obi-Wan went to meet Anakin, who was getting out of class. Even though he didn’t really feel like lightsaber practice, he took Anakin to the dojo anyway. He decided to watch Anakin spar with some of the other junior padawans and offer pointers, instead of sparring with Anakin himself. He still had duties to fulfill as Anakin’s master, even if he didn’t feel like doing anything.

In the evening, Obi-Wan did make dinner the way he had meant to do the day before, although he was not hungry in the least. Anakin seemed relieved to see his master acting more like his usual self. He had no idea Obi-Wan had been feeling so sad about the anniversary of Qui-Gon’s death. If he had been more solicitous, less wrapped up in himself, none of this would have happened.

Once Obi-Wan had put Anakin to bed, he slipped out to see Master Dooku. He didn’t want Anakin to be there to hear whatever Master Dooku had to tell him about the night before. Obi-Wan had never been this nervous before about facing his grand-master, but then, he had never failed this spectacularly in front of him before, either. Really it was Anakin who dragged Master Dooku into it, but he couldn’t blame the boy for involving the adult he was closest to after Obi-Wan himself.

Master Dooku seemed pleasantly surprised to see Obi-Wan when he opened his door. “I’m glad to see you up and about. Back to normal, I hope?”

“I suppose. I hear an apology and/ or a thank you is in order.”

“You don’t remember what happened last night, do you?” Master Dooku ushered Obi-Wan into his quarters and closed his front door.

“No, I’m afraid not. I remember coming home, being overwhelmed by grief, going out to walk and think, finding myself in a bar, getting kissed by a woman I didn’t know, and then waking up at home.” In truth Obi-Wan remembered drinking up his entire rum supply at home before going out, but he thought it prudent to leave that part of his evening out.

“Sounds about right. I know what day it was yesterday. I understand that you miss Qui-Gon. I do, too. Anakin is a good kid but he’s still your first padawan. Most first-time masters get help from their own former masters, but Qui-Gon isn’t here to help. I understand that. But I’m here. I admit I wasn’t a great master to Qui-Gon, or even necessarily to Asajj, but you don’t have to struggle alone.”

Obi-Wan hung his head. He wasn’t supposed to be drowning in grief for a master who was never as attached to him as he was to said master. If he asked Master Dooku for help too often, the Council might reassign Anakin; Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he could handle that, having grown attached to the boy. Probably too attached.

“Anakin came home from the Archives, couldn’t find you in any of the usual places, couldn’t connect to your training bond, and panicked. He asked me for help in finding you. I remembered what day it was, figured you would be sad, guessed which bars you might be in trying to drown your grief, because there are only a limited number of establishments that serve Jedi, and we found you. You were already passed out when we loaded you into the speeder and brought you home. I did see the red lipstick marks on your face. You’ve got to be careful with the women who hang out in places like that. A lot of them are on deathsticks and have dirty habits.”

Obi-Wan sat with his head in his hands. “I failed Anakin pretty badly this time. I caused a lot of extra bother for you, too. I’m so sorry.”

“I hope you don’t make a habit of this kind of behavior. Anakin told me you go to Dex’s Diner sometimes. That place isn’t my style, but I don’t see any harm in letting the boy make contacts and friends outside of the Temple. Just, make sure you don’t put Anakin or yourself in danger.”

It never occurred to Obi-Wan to ask how Master Dooku knew so much about the perils of Coruscanti nightlife when he didn’t drink alcohol or go to disreputable establishments himself. Drinking in itself was not against the Code, but drunkenness certainly was, especially when it was habitual.

“Meditate, drink tea, go swimming, knit a blanket, adopt a plant, get a decent haircut, do whatever it takes to keep yourself grounded. That boy needs you.”

Obi-Wan nodded and smiled. The list of suggested activities were mostly things that Qui-Gon would do. He must have learned them from Master Dooku. Well, except for the last item on the list.

“Thank you, Master Dooku. I feel better already. I didn’t think I could talk to anyone about how much I miss Qui-Gon because I’m obviously too attached to him, even now. I wanted to be strong for Anakin, but I didn’t manage that, either.”

“I think he learned something from this incident, too. He’s an emotional boy. He’ll learn more from watching his too-passionate master deal with his emotions than he would by watching a perfectly calm, impassive master who might as well be a droid. There is a reason the Force put you two together. Now it’s getting late. Don’t you think Anakin will be worried if he wakes up in the night and finds that you’re not home?”

“You’re right. Thank you and good night.” Obi-Wan resolved then and there to avoid keeping alcohol in his room as much as possible. Unless, of course, he received another generous gift from the grandfatherly chancellor. He certainly should probably stay away from bars, at least for a while. Anakin was still young and needed him to be home at night.

* * *

Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine sometimes listened in on the chatter of his non-droid aides. One of the women was telling her colleague about her sister’s barroom adventure the night before.

“So I gave Womba a little money to cover her rent, but then I got a drunk message from her last night about how she met this gorgeous young Jedi at the bar, how cute he was because he was so obviously sad, and all that, and how he let her kiss him for a while but didn’t take her up on her offers. Turns out he was too sad or too drunk, and last night was the anniversary of his master’s death, but then that’s all right because he was a ginger with an overgrown bad haircut anyway. I love my sister, I don’t mind her trying to meet men and have a good time, but she’s such a mess. A Jedi seems like a good choice to flirt with, and I’m glad he didn’t take advantage of her, but you know how Jedi aren’t supposed to date and marry. I told her to stop trying to snag a Jedi because she’ll get her heart broken in any scenario.”

The chancellor chuckled to himself. The Jedi knight described sounded a lot like Kenobi. He had been drinking in a bar last night and gotten drunk—something Kenobi might very well do on the anniversary of Qui-Gon’s death. He would probably try to reign in his drinking for a while, then be back with a vengeance. That was the way with drunks when they were first getting hooked. Some preliminary research into the Kenobi bloodline had revealed a long line of people with mild Force sensitivity who went on to have glorious careers as alcoholics. Perhaps this was why young Kenobi’s progress was rather quick for a man, almost as quick as a woman’s—his genetic predisposition combined with his midichlorian count made him delightfully vulnerable.

* * *

Obi-Wan did spend much of the next day meditating and drinking tea, when he wasn’t in the pool with Anakin for his swimming class. This time he did swim a little, trying to show Anakin something. While he did not dig out Master Tahl’s knitting needles that he wasn’t supposed to still have, he did baby Qui-Gon’s plants a bit more than usual. Master Dooku was right about the calming effect of these activities, including the memories of his old master that they stirred up.

Anakin seemed happier and less troubled, too, like a fog had lifted from him. His mental shields were strong enough now that he didn’t flood Obi-Wan’s brain through their training bond, but his moods were still fairly easy to read.

Obi-Wan counted the hours he spent with no new intake of alcohol. He was going to be all right. He could almost taste the Corellian whiskey on his tongue just from the memories, but he wasn’t going to actually drink any, so there was no harm in imagining, was there?

The next time he saw Master Dooku the following week, the latter seemed somewhat relieved to see Obi-Wan’s complexion looking less waxy and his breath and body not giving off that telling acidic tang that couldn’t be entirely hidden with mouthwash and scented soaps. His hair looked a little shinier too, although Obi-Wan had let it get shaggy and unkempt again.

“I meditated, drank tea, went swimming, and doted on the plants like you suggested and I think it helped. I haven’t tried knitting, but I had the knitted afghan Master Tahl made for Qui-Gon and me washed.”

“Good. Remember what Qui-Gon actually meant when he talked about following the Living Force. He wasn’t advocating hedonism, but something closer to mindfulness. I’m glad it’s helping you. I do many of those things myself when I find myself missing him. You still haven’t gotten a decent haircut, though.”

Obi-Wan flashed a weary smile at his grand-master’s bluntness. “That’s my next project.”

“Good. No more DIY. Here, try this place. Tell them I sent you.” Master Dooku produced a flimsi with a business address on it from the folds of his robe. He must have been carrying it around all this time, just waiting for the perfect chance to give it to Obi-Wan.

The address was in the mid-city of Coruscant, not far from the Temple. Obi-Wan turned over the flimsi in his hand and saw the words “The bearer is the grandpadawan of Master Yan Dooku. Treat him accordingly.” written in old-fashioned but elegant cursive. He had to smile. The old Jedi master clearly had a soft spot for him as a lineage descendent, although he would never say so directly.

“Thank you. I’ll give them a try. I think Anakin’s getting out of his morning classes soon. Would you like to join us for lunch?”

Master Dooku frowned. “Let’s see. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not free today. I have a meeting in half an hour. Maybe next time.” He patted Obi-Wan on the arm and excused himself with a cryptic expression that Obi-Wan had finally learned to recognize as a smile substitute.

Master Dooku was not on the Council and was getting rather old for solo missions, but Obi-Wan knew better than to pry into what sort of meeting he had. His grand-master was a mysterious figure. Obi-Wan had always heard some stories about him from Qui-Gon, but the man he had come to know seemed much kinder and warmer than the version he grew up imagining. Perhaps Master Dooku had gotten softer in his old age, having learned from his mistakes with each of his padawans.

Anakin’s appetite was at full force as he bounded into the refectory to their usual meeting spot. The boy seemed determined to make up for his lack of steady meals during the first nine years of his life by eating as much as he could now. Then again, he was growing quickly and had a lot of physical training in his daily life. Obi-Wan remembered being hungry all the time when he was that age. When he was brought back from Bandomeer and again when he was brought back from Mandalore he had been emaciated; after the latter experience, he had eaten more than enough to make up for it, then ended up a bit tubby when he didn’t grow as much vertically as he had anticipated. Somehow he had always assumed that he would grow to be as tall as Qui-Gon. All that was a long time ago now, and Obi-Wan had long since managed to convert the extra weight to muscle.

“What did you learn today in natural history?”

“About taun tauns and their body temperature. I wish she would cover Krayt dragons, though. I bet I’m the only padawan in the class who’s actually seen one.”

“Maybe you could do your research report about them. You could include field observations.” Obi-Wan remembered spending hours trying to memorize these things when he was an Initiate, in the hope of improving his chances of being picked as padawan, but struggling to keep the details of the Outer Rim straight. Perhaps it was poetic justice that he now had a padawan from Tatooine.

“I guess. I don’t see why I have to study animals and boring stuff like astronavigation when I’m already a good pilot.”

“Well, when you go on missions, you never know when your technology will fail you and all you’ll have is a half-remembered lesson about the wildlife of Hoth to keep you alive. You have an advantage, Anakin. You’ve already been to four different planets and you’re eleven. It’s much easier to learn this stuff when you have practical experience with it.”

“I guess. But didn’t you go all over the galaxy as a padawan?”

“I did, but not at your age. I wasn’t picked to be Qui-Gon’s padawan until I was already over the age limit. I was thirteen and had already started my training with the Agricorps on Bandomeer. I was going to be a farmer, but Qui-Gon found me.”

Obi-Wan thought it best to leave out some of the violent details, and carefully refrained from making a comment about Qui-Gon and pathetic lifeforms, even though he would be including himself in that category. It was an inside joke with Qui-Gon that Anakin wouldn’t find funny.

“I can’t picture you as a farmer, Master. At least, not a Tatooine moisture farmer. I know you’re good with plants, but that’s not the same.”

“I wasn’t always good with plants. But there would be no way I could look after a padawan properly if I couldn’t handle a few houseplants.”

Anakin blinked. Apparently it had never occurred to him that adults are not automatically programmed with the ability to look after children. That, or he didn’t think of Obi-Wan as looking after him. Perhaps he even thought he was the one looking after Obi-Wan.

“Well, it’s about time to go. Do you want me to observe your junior padawan class with Master Drallig today?” Anakin’s level of emotional neediness fluctuated so that sometimes he didn’t want Obi-Wan to leave him alone even to go to the fresher and other times he was desperate to get out on his own. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it, so Obi-Wan had finally resorted to asking him outright.

“No, I’m OK today.”

“All right. Meet you later then.”

Obi-Wan got up to return their lunch dishes to the return shelf in the refectory before taking Anakin to class.

“Don’t come into the classroom with me. None of the other junior padawans have their masters with them.”

“All right, as you wish.” It never got any easier. Obi-Wan knew Anakin was just trying to seem like a big boy in front of his peers, but sometimes it still felt like Anakin was somehow ashamed of him. That’s impossible. There was nothing to be ashamed of, even though Obi-Wan was rather young to be a master. He may have started out as a poor substitute for Qui-Gon, but after two years they were solidly bonded. It would make sense if Anakin felt ashamed of him towards Master Dooku, who had seen him fail dramatically, but the other junior padawans wouldn’t know about any of that.

Oh yes, Master Dooku. With several hours of freedom, Obi-Wan decided to go to the barbershop his grand-master had recommended. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t hear the end of it until he did. He didn’t even have a desired style in mind, but he did want to look well-put-together, since well-groomed individuals tended to be trusted more. Besides, he would be more convincing lecturing Anakin about grooming if he himself looked neat. It was important to keep up appearances, after all, lest someone think he might possibly be dissolute.

Obi-Wan didn’t have too much trouble finding the place. It was the sort of elegant establishment that made him feel like an impostor as a plausible customer, or even as a grown man, for that matter, but it wouldn’t be hard to imagine Master Dooku feeling right at home. Obi-Wan told himself that he would only have to do this once, to get a professional opinion on what to do with his straight, thick, copper hair, then try to maintain it himself, or, failing that –he had no idea. DIY was good enough for a padawan and Qui-Gon had clearly never shared his master’s tastes or grooming habits. What did other knights do?

He shook his head at himself. _Come on, stop being so dramatic. It’s just a haircut._ Obi-Wan used to even find it meditative and relaxing to trim his padawan cut himself. Logically it should be even easier to let someone else deal with his hair. He took a deep breath and went in.

The inside of the shop was just as impressive as he had feared. What business did a young Jedi knight like him have in a place like this? It was all very well for a nobleman like Master Dooku, who was born to be a count. “Hello sir. What can I do for you today?” A woman emerged from the recesses of the shop, sizing him up with her eyes. She might even have thought he was a tradesman come to deliver supplies until she saw his Jedi robes.

“Hello there. Master Dooku sent me.” What a stupid opener. She may not even know her customers by name anyway. Besides, a knight who was the first to kill a Sith in a millennium shouldn’t be afraid of a hairdresser.

“Oh yes, he mentioned you. You must be his grandson or whatever. Come in, have a seat.” The woman actually smiled. It dawned on Obi-Wan that this whole adventure might be rather expensive. On the other hand, Master Dooku didn’t necessarily have access to his family’s fortune, either. Obi-Wan didn’t know much about his grand-master’s finances.

Obi-Wan sat in the chair indicated, then realized he didn’t really know what to expect, having never experienced any kind of professional pampering before. The woman already had her fingers buried in his hair. She was still smiling, but had a look of concentration, as if she were trying to see something that wasn’t there. “What did you say your name was?” she asked.

“I didn’t say my name. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi knight. As you can see.”

“Yes, I noticed you were a Jedi. I hear you’re responsible for a gifted young boy at an unusually young age and have very little experience with this kind of self-care. What sort of style do you have in mind?”

“I—have no idea.” He looked down, almost ashamed. He should have thought this through. Just like everything else in his life, he was thrust into a decision-making situation unprepared. “Something practical and neat, I guess.” This was a mistake; he should not be wasting time, credits, and energy on himself. It was probably too late now, so he might as well try to salvage the situation as best he could.

“Are you naturally a practical and neat person?”

“Yes. Or at least, that’s what I’ve always been told. I don’t notice it but other people do. I just like my space to be tidy, but apparently other people see my apartment as immaculate. But I’m friendly, really.” _What is this interrogation? This is almost like an interview with the Council before taking a padawan._

“I see.” The woman continued to play with his hair, experimenting with the part and combing the sides back. Obi-Wan realized that part of why he was uncomfortable with this was because this woman was not Satine.

Dear Satine. That other woman at the bar he allowed to touch his hair as well, but he regretted that. Perhaps he was never worthy of Satine, just as he wasn’t worthy of Anakin, but he could at least look like the man they needed him to be. Someone who didn’t make a fool of himself in seedy bars, cause even more trouble for the people who were important to him, and then try to hide the after-effects of his lapses behind shaggy hair. Someone who more closely resembled the padawan he had been when Satine fell in love with him, when he still had Qui-Gon in his life to keep him grounded. “I want it short and neat. I don’t know beyond that.”

The woman smiled again and set to work with her comb, parting his top hair on the left and smoothing down the rest. “You cut this yourself, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question but was too gentle to be a true accusation. Obi-Wan heard the first contact between the scissors he hadn’t seen her pick up and his hair, followed by the dull thud of a severed lock hitting the cape around his shoulders. If only he could also cut out the grief and the uncertainty, not to mention the memories of Darth Maul’s cruel, twisted grin. The woman didn’t chatter aimlessly, which was good. She worked methodically, casually removing a year’s growth in a few minutes before she switched to clippers to go over his back and sides, the way he used to do himself when he was still Qui-Gon’s padawan, only now there was no braid to carefully avoid.

The woman would stand back to look at the big picture from time to time before returning to cutting his hair shorter and shorter. Now that Qui-Gon was gone, Obi-Wan spent more time trying to connect to the Living Force, in the process forgetting the big picture he normally got from the Unifying Force. It seemed that it was impossible to gain anything important in life without losing a vital part of himself, piece by piece, until he was a different person altogether. He still missed Qui-Gon, but if offered the chance to go back in time and avoid that mission to Naboo, he wasn’t sure he would take it, since it would mean never meeting Anakin.

Eventually the woman finished, leaving no more than about an inch on top, even at the longest section in the front where the left part was. It was just barely long enough to part at all. Now there was none left of the hair he had had when Qui-Gon first found Anakin. Even though he had never worn this style before, it was undeniably _him_. The hairdresser was smiling at the result, telling him that he was strikingly handsome and lucky to have such thick copper hair. Obi-Wan didn’t see himself that way, but wasn’t about to argue. Master Dooku would approve of this cut.

When Obi-Wan went to pick up Anakin from class later that afternoon, he could see immediately that his apprentice was in a bad mood, which only seemed to get worse at the sight of a suddenly-spruced-up Obi-Wan.

“Anakin, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the boy said between clenched teeth.

“I don’t believe that. If you don’t like my new haircut that’s fine, you can say so. There’s more, though, isn’t there?”

Anakin said nothing for a few minutes, then looked around to make sure that the coast was clear. “Do I really look like a scruffy-looking nerf-herder?”

“No, I don’t think so. You could use a trim, but you don’t look as bad as all that. Who said that?”

“A girl in my class. She says she would have been a princess if her parents hadn’t given her up to become a Jedi, and she wouldn’t have to look at Outer Rim kids like me.”

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin’s hand and squeezed it. “Did she now. She sounds stuck-up and a bit silly. The Queen of Naboo certainly thought you were all right.”

Anakin smiled for a moment before catching himself. “She also said her master remembers when you were a junior padawan and that you always looked neatly-trimmed and well-scrubbed even though Master Jinn wasn’t that type himself.”

“That’s because I liked to be neat. My master loved to break the rules, so I followed them instead--well, sort of. Besides, I found it relaxing and meditative to polish my boots and trim my padawan cut. Qui-Gon never forced me to do any of that.”

“She then said that her master used to fancy you, but not anymore. Do I want to know about that?”

“I don’t know who that is, but I think it’s highly inappropriate of her to tell her padawan about it. It’s normal to have a teenage crush on a classmate but it’s not nice to tell innocent kids about it years later.”

“Did you have a crush on someone, Master?”

“Of course I did, and she liked me back, but we’re Jedi so we never did anything inappropriate. You never know who you’ll be assigned as a mission partner as a knight. Since you’re going to be colleagues for the rest of your life, it’s best to avoid awkwardness and embarrassment by keeping those feelings to yourself. You can tell your master of course, just not the girl in question.”

Anakin breathed a sigh of relief. His angel was not a Jedi, so he wouldn’t have to worry. It didn’t matter what that silly girl in his class thought as long as Padme thought he was all right. He couldn’t fathom how or why someone would find his master appealing when they were both teenagers but not like him anymore. It was a little disgusting to imagine anyone drooling over his master like that, though, so he pushed that thought out of his mind.

For Obi-Wan’s part, suddenly being told years after the fact that there had been another girl who was interested in him in that way was surprising. He had not been especially popular with girls. A goody-two-shoes image, smallish frame, ginger hair, imposing master, and lack of confidence in himself had worked against him at an age when the girls he knew were mostly attracted to bad-boy types. That was why he still treasured the memory of the two girls who had been kind enough to see him as a love interest, one a fellow Jedi, the other Satine.

Walking back to their quarters, they passed Master Ki-Adi-Mundi in the hall, who did a double take before nodding at them. Obi-Wan absently nodded back, prodding Anakin to acknowledge the social gesture. Anakin still had so much to learn about social graces, but thanks to his mechanic’s mind, he learned quickly enough as long as he understood the rules. Perhaps it had also helped that Obi-Wan had convinced him to make his new droid project another protocol droid like the one he had created on Tatooine to be his mother’s servant. Right, Anakin’s mother. Obi-Wan still had to find out what happened to her.


	7. Devaron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon is that there is complete gender equality in that galaxy far, far, away--the good, the bad, and the ugly. Sexual harassment is equal opportunity, too. Poor Obi.

Once back in their shared apartment, Obi-Wan began gathering vegetables from the cooling unit to make dinner. Years of living with Qui-Gon had made him a good cook; Qui-Gon’s penchant for following the Living Force with no thought about the refectory schedule had made this a necessity. Cooking a meal required a big-picture concept of what the cook wanted to do, the ingredients and steps involved, and the discipline to follow through until the food was ready. Obi-Wan was simply better at that, so over the twelve years he had been Qui-Gon’s padawan he had naturally drifted into this role. His strong preference for tidiness had also made him the one to clean their quarters more often than not.

“Do I have to eat my vegetables? We didn’t have vegetables on Tatooine.” Anakin whined in the way that children do.

“You know that’s not quite true. I know Qui-Gon had dinner at your house, and he told me what your mother made. There were vegetables in there. Not many, perhaps, but they were present.” Obi-Wan was bluffing a bit as he peeled the tubers and root vegetables. There was a reason why he tended to make vegetable stew—it was the easiest way to get Anakin to eat his vegetables.

Defeated, Anakin watched in silence as Obi-Wan added the vegetables to the pot and prepared the frozen bantha meat cubes. “Why do you cook at home like this even when the refectory is open?”

“I think it’s important for us to share meals as much as possible. You grew up doing that with your mother, which wasn’t the Jedi way, but you needed continuity and I think it does work for us. Besides, it’s useful to know about food preparation on missions. You don’t want to be stuck on some wilderness planet with no ration bars left when all you know how to make is something that’s a poor imitation of Master Yoda’s stew.”

Anakin giggled as Obi-Wan shuddered slightly at a memory. Everyone knew that Master Yoda’s stew was mostly fit only for Master Yoda himself. It was a complete mystery what the ingredients were, but rumor had it that it was twigs and rocks stewed in swamp scum, with maybe a frog or snail added in for protein.

“Even on the fancy diplomatic missions, it’s still helpful to be able to identify how the banquet dishes were made and what is in them, because some cultures attach symbolic meanings to these things, and just so you know that you’re not being poisoned.”

“Has anyone ever tried to poison you?” Obi-Wan didn’t often regale Anakin with tales from his years as a padawan, but when he did, Anakin did enjoy them, in spite of the obvious didactic intent.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, they have. More than once. Uncooked tubers, poisonous fish, deadly berries that look nice in desserts, spiked drinks—there were lots of different approaches to that. It was a good thing I could identify these biological weapons posing as food and warn my master through our training bond. The hosts were always surprised when we found ways to avoid eating their poison.”

“But what if it was just a mistake?”

“There weren’t many instances of that, although sometimes our hosts didn’t realize that humans can’t digest tree bark. For diplomatic missions, the Council always told the hosts who they were sending, so the other side knew beforehand we were humans. Master Koon or Master Fisto can eat things that we can’t, and vice versa. Finding out about dietary needs of guests is part of diplomacy.”

Obi-Wan was washing dishes after dinner when Anakin brought him his comm, which was beeping. He dried his hands quickly and took the call. “Kenobi.” Anakin took over washing the dishes, which was a fairly recent development.

Master Windu on the other end was brief, as always. “We have a possible mission for you. Report to the Council in ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll be right there.”

“All right, bring your padawan if you must.”

* * *

In the Council chamber, everyone now agreed that Knight Kenobi was going on the mission, but opinions were still divided about Padawan Skywalker.

“This is a diplomatic mission, so probably safe enough to bring a child.” Master Koon said through his breather. “It’ll be a good experience for the boy to see. Besides, it’s what his master does best. It’s good for a padawan to watch his master at work. It builds trust and respect.”

“But the boy himself is not smooth enough for diplomacy.” Master Windu was still not convinced. “He’s rather young to be brought on missions, anyway. Kenobi himself is still young. We should pair him with an older master or knight. Knight Ventress, perhaps. Kenobi would still be in charge, but he doesn’t have enough gravitas on his own.”

“I saw him in the hall today. I don’t think he looks like a little boy anymore. Remember, he’s twenty-seven. He’s certainly more than old enough. We thought he was old enough to have a padawan, he’s old enough to lead his own mission. I think Padawan Skywalker is old enough, too. He’s been with us for two years now.” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi flashed his winning smile, yellow eyes shining.

“I agree. Besides, when we first started sending Master Jinn on these missions, it was because we discovered through experience that it was his padawan who was generally responsible for their success. Knight Kenobi has been a skilled diplomat since he was a senior padawan. Part of that was having Master Jinn as his foil. I suspect that Padawan Skywalker will play a similar role to Master Jinn in their partnership as diplomats. It’s a dynamic that Knight Kenobi himself finds comfortable. I think that would be more effective than pairing him with a knight he doesn’t know well.” Master Gallia had always been fond of Qui-Gon, but was under no illusions about the true reason for his success on diplomatic missions.

“Decided it is, then. Obi-Wan his padawan will bring.” Master Yoda closed his eyes and twitched his ears as he suppressed a smile.

* * *

By the time Obi-Wan and Anakin reached the Council chamber, the decision had been made. Master Windu, as always, found himself giving the very orders that he had been against. His former master seemed to take a sadistic sort of pleasure in this. He knew that if he protested, he would get a rap on his shins from the dreaded gimmer stick.

“The two of you are being sent on a diplomatic mission. We can no longer ignore the problems caused by Devaronian smugglers. Some of our own have had interference in their missions or even been held hostage by these scoundrels. We need you to get the president to promise to reign in these troublemakers. Get it in writing from the president herself, or at least a cabinet member. Is this clear?”

“Yes, Master Windu. When do we leave?” Obi-Wan bowed. Anakin followed suit an uncomfortable minute later, although he was standing in the correct position behind his master. Baby steps.

“It’s far away, so you will need to travel all night. Spend tomorrow morning in negotiations, and then use their midday meal ritual as a chance to seal your agreement. Leave as soon as possible.”

“I understand.” Obi-Wan bowed again.

“Dismissed, you are. May the Force be with you.”

“Thank you, Master.” With that, Obi-Wan and Anakin left the chamber and began preparations to set off on their mission. Obi-Wan was happy to have a mission of this type again.

* * *

It was late at night local time when Obi-Wan and Anakin arrived on Devaron. Anakin knew from growing up on Tatooine that it was generally a mistake to stare at people, no matter how different they looked from himself. He had seen Devaronian men before on Tatooine and knew they were hairless with two horns on their foreheads, but had never seen any Devaronian women. He didn’t think they were especially pretty with the twin circle marks on their foreheads where the horns would go on men, but at least the woman who escorted them to their accommodations had friendly brown eyes and black hair, combined with pink skin. His master’s skin was fairly pink too; perhaps this was why the woman kept smiling at him.

“Welcome, Master Jedi. I hope these chambers are to your liking. They should be warm enough for you to shed those outer layers and get comfortable.” She licked her lips. “If there is anything more you would enjoy, I’ll be right outside, available for anything.” She looked at Obi-Wan in a way that made Anakin uncomfortable. There was something hungry in her eyes, even though it was well past dinnertime. When Obi-Wan had bowed and turned his back to her in order to enter the room, she reached for his backside, noticed Anakin glaring at her, then pretended she was only reaching for the doorknob all along.

As soon as they were alone in the room, Anakin kicked at the carpet. “I didn’t like her. She made me feel icky inside, the way she looked at you, Master.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “You noticed? I suppose you would. But we can’t let our personal feelings get in the way of the mission. Besides, she didn’t actually do anything she shouldn’t. If she did, I would include it in my mission report.”

“She tried to touch you.”

“I know she did. Anakin, did you lock the door behind you?” Obi-Wan still had on his heavy brown cloak. He had a suspicion that he had been chosen for this mission not just for his reputation as a negotiator but also because Devaron’s government was run by women who appreciated young male humans; bringing Anakin would help convince some of these women to think better of doing something rash.

Obi-Wan had finally removed his cloak and boots when there was a knock on the door. He unlocked it and opened it just a sliver. To his surprise, the woman on the other side of the door was the Foreign Minister. “Care to join me for a drink? I don’t believe the documents we sent before your arrival presented the full picture.”

Obi-Wan turned his head toward Anakin inside the room. “Go to bed without me, Anakin. Get some sleep. I’ll try not to wake you when I get back.”

He could feel Anakin’s worry through the training bond, but his apprentice merely said, “Yes, Master” aloud. Obi-Wan could handle himself. It was bittersweet that Anakin worried about him. The boy had seen more than a child should when he was a slave on Tatooine, so he was well aware of some of the more sordid possibilities, but he was still only eleven years old. He shouldn’t have to worry about his master.

Obi-Wan slipped on the soft moccasins placed by the door and followed the Foreign Minister, trying to memorize the layout of the place in case he had to return to his accommodations unaided. He did have his lightsaber, but had promised himself he wouldn’t use it on a diplomatic mission like this.

“I heard about your arrival from my aide. She told me the Jedi emissary this time would be a delight to entertain. I can see that she wasn’t wrong.” The Foreign Minister was looking him up and down, although she did refrain from touching him. On the other hand, they were just getting started.

They rounded a corner and entered a cozy suite of rooms that he guessed were where she entertained guests. There was a low wooden table in the middle of the front room, which had pink and orange tapestries on the walls to match the carpets. She indicated a low yellow canvas sofa and took a seat next to him. He could sense that she was considering wrapping her arm around him, so he subtly shifted his weight away.

There was a large bottle of Corellian whiskey on the table, along with two tumblers. Obi-Wan remembered that Devaronians had two livers, so that they had to drink more to get the same effect. Hence the large tumblers instead of the little shot glasses common on Coruscant. It was impossible for an ordinary human to outdrink a Devaronian or Corellian man, but Obi-Wan had built up an impressive tolerance, he could use the Force to help metabolize the alcohol, and besides, his companion was a woman. Devaronian culture taught that women were naturally the smarter sex, thus better-suited to government. The Foreign Minister clearly did not take him seriously as an emissary if she thought she could get him drunk, perhaps have some non-consensual fun with him, and get him to compromise himself. She would see her plan backfire, for sure. The Foreign Minister had obviously never drunk with a Stewjoni Jedi.

Obi-Wan accepted the tumbler with a gracious but fake smile and took a sip. Good, it tastes like normal Corellian whiskey. He waited for the Foreign Minister to sip hers before continuing. They made small talk about his flight over and general business news. When he was confident that his drink was not drugged he allowed his smile to project more genuine warmth. He could use an ally.

After the fourth tumbler each, the Foreign Minister finally did put her arm around him. Obi-Wan decided not to object. The woman was obviously old enough to be his mother and then some. She was also considerably taller than him, like most of the women of her race. “So, I know that your name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, that you’re a Jedi knight with exactly the type of blue-green eyes I love to look at. A beautiful creature. But I want to know more. How old are you, little boy?”

Obi-Wan smiled stiffly to give himself a moment. He still felt too young for many things in his life, but decided to tell the truth. The way his smile crinkled the skin around his eyes should help. “I’m twenty-seven.”

“What a wonderful age to be. I keep telling my daughter to get a young man around your age, not a washed-up old one her own age. She’s thirty-eight.”

“Ah. You must be proud of her achievements.” Obi-Wan knew that older people generally liked to brag about their children and grandchildren, so he often encouraged these comments. He could feel the Foreign Minister’s hand sliding down from his shoulder down his back. He had a feeling it wouldn’t come to rest at his waist.

“Yes, of course. I’ll have another bottle brought to us, little Obi-dear.”

She used her other hand to comm a staffer, then picked up her tumbler again, staring into Obi-Wan’s face the whole time.

“Thank you. This is good whiskey. It seems to get harder and harder to trade goods legitimately with so much smuggling going on these days.” Obi-Wan decided to put out feelers at this point.

“Yes, it is. The scoundrels get away with so much because everyone loves a scoundrel.” She winked and stuck her tongue out for a moment before the staffer brought the second bottle.

As soon as they were alone again her hand crawled lower down his back, past his waist. It found the hem of his outer tunic and tried to worm its way to the bare skin of his lower back. His Jedi uniform made this a nice challenge. When she had almost succeeded Obi-Wan leaned back into the sofa, forcing her to pull her hand away in a hurry.

“I thought you liked a scoundrel.” He looked at her mischievously.

“Well, yes, I do, but I also like human males because of their exotic color combinations. Your pinkish skin color is not uncommon for Devaronian men, but blue-green eyes don’t occur in our population.” She rerouted her hand to his hair. “And your hair. It’s soft and silky like a Devaronian woman’s, but in a color that doesn’t occur naturally for us. Our men don’t grow hair at all, so it’s fascinating. It’s not dyed, is it?”

“No.” While proper grooming was encouraged for Jedi, vanity was not. Obi-Wan did generally like to be tidy, but had never been vain at any point in his life. It had never even occurred to him in all of his twenty-seven years to dye his hair. If it had, he wouldn’t have chosen red, given the years of teasing it brought. He tried not to let slip through his shields just how uncomfortable he felt with the Foreign Minister’s hand in his hair. A display of anger might jeopardize the mission. At least he’d cut his hair short enough for there to be very little for her to grab.

“Is it true what they say about curtains and rugs, for human males with red hair?” Obi-Wan took a deep breath to center himself, then frowned. There was no correct answer to that question. If he said yes, she might take it as an invitation to see for herself. If he said no, she was bound to ask embarrassing follow-up questions. If he said it was none of her business, she might get angry and try to sabotage his whole mission. He let out a nervous laugh and poured the Foreign Minister another drink.

“I’ll bet you’re muscular under all those clothes.” She put down her drink and tried to feel his bicep. “Too bad you keep that beautiful body all covered up. Would have been fun to see your lightsaber.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers locked around the hilt of his weapon. “My first lightsaber was blue. It was lost in battle so I’ve been using my late master’s green one.” She didn’t need any of this information but Obi-Wan was desperate for a conversational topic that didn’t revolve around speculating about what was under his clothes. He would have no such luck.

“No, I mean your other one. The one you had from before you became a Jedi.” She was leering at him, flashing a gummy smile with discolored teeth. It was obvious that she was ripping his robes off in her imagination and having a grand old time.

This was going to be a long night. They were halfway through their third bottle when the Foreign Minister slumped onto his shoulder, still murmuring “cute little Obi-boy.” Obi-Wan gently extricated himself and pulled her legs up onto the sofa to let her sleep. He knew he should slip away, but he couldn’t leave that much good whiskey to go to waste. He finally relaxed enough to let the whiskey affect him without Force-metabolizing it. When he had emptied his tumbler he poured himself some more from the bottle. All too soon the third bottle was empty so he downed the whiskey sitting in the Foreign Minister’s tumbler, which had been mostly full.

When there was truly nothing left Obi-Wan slipped out of the suite and into the hallway, trying to remember how he came. The hallway was terribly confusing so he closed his eyes and held on to the wall for a long moment, trying to locate Anakin, but quickly discovered that keeping his eyes closed for any length of time would cause his stomach to pitch.

It took longer than he hoped, but he did find his way back to the accommodations he shared with Anakin without losing the contents of his stomach all over the floor. He locked the door behind him and just had enough time to kick off the moccasins before having to make a run for the fresher. He crouched on the floor in the dark for a while, until he was sure that he wasn’t going to lose his dinner, before brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. It wouldn’t do for Anakin to smell the alcohol on him. When he did climb into one of the beds, Anakin turned himself over in the other bed to face him. “Master?”

“Yes, Anakin, I’m back. I’m fine, go back to sleep.”

Obi-Wan knew that some of his disgust for the way the Foreign Minister treated him was leaking through his mental shields, which were weaker than usual when he was intoxicated. He tried to push it down and flood his training bond with Anakin with reassurance instead.

In the morning Obi-Wan was awakened by Anakin shaking him. He knew right away that he was going to have a hangover, but the morning light hurt his eyes before he had even attempted to lift his head. He willed himself up and to his cloak. He had brought his thermos of spiked tea just for such an emergency. He took a long drag on his tea, then felt much more like himself. Anakin seemed relieved when Obi-Wan took a shower and got dressed without incident. In the shower Obi-Wan had a brief flashback of a nightmare he didn’t remember having, but he quickly pushed it away.

He managed to present himself somewhat bright-eyed and relatively bushy-tailed at the breakfast table for negotiations. He was grateful that the food was mostly greasy, which would help with his hangover. The Foreign Minister was not there, but the president was, along with most of the rest of her cabinet. At least someone took him seriously enough as a Jedi emissary to turn up.

Anakin did his best to stay quiet and not project boredom while his master discussed smugglers, tariffs, and trade embargoes. The president didn’t seem to be listening to Obi-Wan very carefully at first; Anakin smiled when he felt his master use a subtle Force suggestion to get her to pay attention.

It took all morning, as suspected, but by lunchtime Obi-Wan had the group of seven tall older women wrapped around his little finger. Obi-Wan hoped that his padawan hadn’t noticed when the president, who had been sitting next to him, tried to reach under the table and grab his crotch. He had simply crossed his legs in response. Anakin was tasked with discreetly recording the negotiations. At one point the Minister of Finance said, “What a clever lad he is! So smart for such a pretty young man.” The president herself addressed him as “honey-boy” on several occasions. Obi-Wan did not flinch or show any outward signs of displeasure, but Anakin knew the way he bit his lip when he was suppressing unpleasant emotions.

The president and her cabinet had all signed the documents Obi-Wan had brought by the time the Foreign Minister showed up. Obi-Wan could feel the mood turn in the room. The woman had been tasked with making him docile and dazed, but had clearly failed, even though he had had considerably more to drink than she had. The lack of love bites, bruises, or any signs of a struggle were also damning, though not from a lack of trying on her part.

“I’m so glad to get this done before Oshmahr today. I’m sure you would appreciate getting a head start on the long trip back to Coruscant.” Apparently Obi-Wan and Anakin were not invited to the special lunch ceremony that was Oshmahr. It didn’t matter because Obi-Wan wasn’t hungry anyway, and there were ration bars back on their ship for Anakin.

The president did not bother to see them off, but the aide who had greeted them upon arrival did. Anakin had already scampered up the ramp into the craft when the woman grasped Obi-Wan’s shoulder from behind and tried to spin him around. Obi-Wan had a bad feeling about it but turned around to face her, just to be polite. Just as he had feared, she tried to grab the back of his head by the hair to force a kiss, but struggled to get a grip on his cropped hair. Even though she was taller than him, he was standing on the ramp, which helped him pull away. She finally slipped her gifts into his cloak pockets and cupped his face with her hand before letting him go at last. He was glad to be wearing his heavy cloak, because that woman would have pinched his backside if given half a chance. She eventually gave up when Obi-Wan reached the top of the ramp and Anakin’s face appeared in the doorway.

Once the door was closed and they had taken off, Obi-Wan pinched the very top of his nose bridge with his thumb and index finger. “Anakin, you can enter the coordinates back to Coruscant. I hope you got the session recording.”

“I did, Master. Are you going to be all right?” Obi-Wan was not doing a good job of suppressing his hangover symptoms or his lingering disgust at the sexual harassment he had been facing.

“Anakin. I want you to remember this mission and promise me that when you’re older, you’ll never treat a woman—or a man, either, for that matter—the way you saw those women treat me. That was sexual harassment and that’s not acceptable behavior. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin didn’t understand why he was being lectured when he had done nothing wrong, at least as far as he could tell. It was unfair, but seeing how distressed his master was, he decided not to press his point.

Obi-Wan didn’t feel good, but he decided to distract himself by working on his mission report. He had been saved by his high tolerance for alcohol, but thought it imprudent to include any allusions to his drinking. He had been drinking on the job, from a certain point of view, although it had felt largely unavoidable. Strictly speaking he could have turned down the drinking match, but he wasn’t averse to matching the Foreign Minister drink for drink and then some. That was the part that he felt he needed to hide. He didn’t need to polish off that third bottle, but he did because he wanted to. Maybe Obi-Wan deserved to be sexually harassed, since his drinking made it hazy how much he had consented to what was happening. No, that wasn’t right. Obi-Wan tried to run his hands through his hair out of force of habit, then stopped when he remembered that he had cut most of it off the day before. It was a good thing, too, because those women would have had a decent grip on his head if he had still had long, shaggy hair. What a long day they had had!

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because Anakin was prodding him awake the next thing he knew. Obi-Wan had a feeling that he had had another bad dream, this time about Devaronian women trying to tear his robes off, but was more than happy to come back to the present and help guide the ship back out of hyperspace. Anakin at eleven years old was already such a talented pilot that Obi-Wan didn’t even have to think before letting him take the controls, but he still needed help with not crash-landing. Obi-Wan guided the ship into the spaceport of the Jedi Temple and landed the craft with his usual smoothness. “Another happy landing.” He smiled at Anakin, simply glad to be home again.

When they disembarked, Obi-Wan was surprised to see Asajj Ventress waiting for them. She smiled, but even her smile was intimidating. Obi-Wan wasn’t especially close to her but he could feel the sadness at the very core of her being, past the protective layer of anger that she had done her best to thin through her Jedi training. She ruffled Anakin’s hair and said, “Master Dooku is trying to talk me into taking a padawan. I told him I didn’t feel ready, but he said nobody is ever truly ready but they manage anyway. I’m afraid the example he gave was you, because you’re younger than me and have had Anakin for two years already.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard and smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about being too young. Bringing up a padawan does an efficient job of aging a master. If I can manage, you can. You’d be taking an apprentice under normal conditions, not the traumatic set of circumstances that threw Anakin and me together.”

“That’s true.” Knight Ventress almost put her hand on his shoulder in a friendly gesture, then pulled her hand away when she felt him tense up.

“I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me. I had some quite unpleasant experiences during my mission.”

“Don’t apologize, I understand.” She looked down and let her inner sadness cloud her expression for a moment. “Maybe a little too well. Nice haircut, by the way. You should keep it short like that.”

“Thanks.”

The two knights picked up their pace to catch up with Anakin, who had bounded ahead. “Next time maybe the Council should send you to Devaron instead of me. They might be more inclined to listen to another woman.”

Knight Ventress raised an eyebrow. “Oh no. They sent you there? What were they thinking? That’s not a reflection on your skills as a negotiator, you understand, but the way Devaronian women in positions of power tend to fetishize red-headed human males—”

“I’m glad I had Anakin with me, because they couldn’t get too carried away with a child present, but I also worry that I shouldn’t have taken him with me because he already understood exactly what was happening. Eleven years old, and he’s already not as innocent as I’d like. I worry about the emotional scars he has from growing up a slave on Tatooine.”

“You know that I was a slave child once, too, right? I don’t like to talk about it, but I could make an exception for Anakin.”

“Would you? I’d appreciate that.”

“We’re lineage-mates. We’ve got to help each other. You should tell Master Koon and Master Gallia about what those Devaronian women did. They’ll listen without blaming you for being too attractive or something stupid like that, as if you can help being good-looking. They need to know better next time.”


	8. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan just says no to deathsticks, but even Quinlan Vos is impressed with his capacity for hard liquor.

By this time they had reached Obi-Wan’s front door, where Anakin was waiting. Obi-Wan fumbled for his keys in his cloak pockets and tried to avoid letting the metal key disk clink against the glass bottles the randy aide had given him. When he found it he unlocked the door and invited Knight Ventress inside. She must have strange taste in men if she thought him good-looking, but then, he didn’t know much about what Zabrak women found attractive in the opposite sex. He thought about what she had said about being blamed for leading on harassers. Obi-Wan had been wearing his Jedi robes, which were hardly revealing. The women seemed to respond to the color of his hair and eyes, but those were natural features. He shouldn’t have to dye his hair just to be treated like a person, and couldn’t exactly stop having blue eyes whenever he felt like it. Putting the kettle on and preparing the teapot helped calm him, so that by the time he had set the table with three sets of teacups with saucers and placed the teapot on a hot pad, he was in a happier mood.

“So, Anakin. Any younglings your age who would be a good fit as my padawan?” Knight Ventress sat in the middle and put her arm around Anakin.

“There’s a Twi’lek girl two years older than me. She’s the biggest, toughest one in her clan but I’ve seen her cry when she thought nobody was looking. Her name is Alema. She said she was hoping to get a female master. I didn’t ask why.”

Knight Ventress shot a look at Obi-Wan, met his eyes, then looked back down at Anakin. “I’d like to meet her. You think I can help her?”

“I think so.”

“Asajj, please do stay for dinner.” Obi-Wan got up and headed to the kitchenette. He was tired but this seemed like a good opportunity to let Knight Ventress talk to Anakin. He prepared the vegetables and seafood for his special pasta sauce and made a great big salad while it simmered. Anakin’s distaste for vegetables had made Obi-Wan creative in how he incorporated them into dishes he knew Anakin especially liked. He had been told that a knight’s first padawan was special, but also that he was already too attached to his.

He shook his head to chase out these thoughts. He could hear snippets of Knight Ventress telling Anakin about her childhood on Dathomir, her owner, the Jedi who had rescued her and made her his padawan. He noticed that she avoided talking about details of her first master’s death, instead jumping straight into her partnership with Master Dooku.

Even then, he could sense Anakin’s muscles tense as he asked her something about losing his master. Obi-Wan wondered why the boy would think in these terms when Obi-Wan was so young and vigorous, except perhaps that he was remembering Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan had never been allowed to grieve properly. Had he simply been another pathetic lifeform to Qui-Gon? He knew that while Qui-Gon certainly did care about him, it was Xanatos who would always have a special place in his master’s heart. The training bond between them never entirely healed after it was violently severed. He could still feel the remains of his own training bond with Qui-Gon, and sometimes tugged on it in his moments of weakness. Even though there was only silence on the other side, it was still comforting somehow.

The sauce was finished. Obi-Wan turned off the heat and began boiling the water for the noodles. He hated to imagine losing his bond with Anakin. Obi-Wan had no direct experience of a natural, non-traumatic tapering off of the training bond; he would have no idea what to do when the time came. “Trust the Living Force.” He heard the admonishment in Qui-Gon’s voice in his head. _Thanks, Master._

Obi-Wan dumped the noodles into the water and began setting the kitchen table. As long as he could keep an eye on the pot it would be all right. Maybe it was the same with padawans. When everything was ready, he called, “Dinner’s served!”

As he watched Anakin drag Knight Ventress by the wrist in his excitement at having a dinner guest it occurred to Obi-Wan that he could have served wine, since there were two adults, and a guest provided the perfect opportunity. On the other hand, if Master Dooku had told her about that night when Obi-Wan had to be dragged home unconscious, she might already think he was a drunk. Besides, there was always the possibility that Anakin had told her about the Foreign Minister last night. Knight Ventress was sympathetic about the sexual harassment, but she might be less so if she found out how much he had had to drink. Knight Ventress was looking for a padawan; if he was found to be unfit, she could take over Anakin’s training.

 _Focus on the present, don’t dwell on your anxieties, Obi-Wan._ He took a deep breath and joined them at the dinner table. “Wow, I had heard that you cooked, but I had no idea you were so good at it.” Knight Ventress smiled as she loaded up her plate with seconds.

“I think padawan-master relationships benefit from home-cooking, especially when the padawan is very young.” Obi-Wan smiled. He knew that he could never replace Anakin’s mother, but he was doing his best to provide a natural transition in the little boy’s life.

After Knight Ventress had left, Obi-Wan yawned as he cleaned up the dinner table and washed the dishes. Really Anakin should have some chores to do, but somehow Obi-Wan invariably found himself doing them. He was always cleaning up other people’s messes. Anakin’s room was well-beyond Obi-Wan’s control, however. The droid parts and clothes on the floor made sense only to Anakin. Even though Obi-Wan knew every square inch of the room that had been his for twelve years, he didn’t dare try to pick it up. On the other hand, given Anakin’s early life as a slave, Obi-Wan didn’t feel comfortable giving him too many domestic tasks. He could simply rely on droids the way many Jedi did but he thought it better for Anakin to have a more home-like environment; besides, Obi-Wan himself found cooking and cleaning relaxing.

He trimmed Anakin’s padawan cut, then put the boy to bed. Obi-Wan suspected that the point of this ritual was master-padawan bonding. For all the talk about not forming attachments, the master-padawan relationship was a clear exception. These were the little inconsistencies that fed into Qui-Gon’s focus on the Living Force, and that children always spotted. He would need to anticipate Anakin’s questions and prepare some answers.

Alone in his room Obi-Wan took the bottles out of his cloak pockets and looked around for somewhere else to hide them. Anakin was good about respecting his master’s privacy, although he still did come bounding into his bed after a nightmare. Obi-Wan decided to put the bottles under the bed, but a little farther back than before, partly to hide them from Anakin but also to discourage himself from reaching for them.

He sat on the bed for a while, too tired and wound-up to lie down and sleep. A nightcap would be good, as long as he could trust himself to not drink the whole bottle. There had been a time, ten years ago, before Obi-Wan had ever tasted his first alcohol—unless you counted the little sips Qui-Gon shared on the rare occasions that he did have a drink—when he had been wary of the stuff, like he somehow knew the hold it would come to have on him. The first time he had had a proper drink, aged eighteen, he knew something was wrong. It had felt too good, like a hug from Siri or a kiss from Satine, a soaring joy better than meditating, a meadow full of flowers. Even knowing this, he had dismissed it as mere inexperience and ignored the nagging feeling.

No, better to just go to bed. He stood up to stretch, then found himself on his hands and knees, hunting under the bed. _No, I’m not doing this_. And yet, his hand was wrapped affectionately around the bottle. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and recited the Jedi Code to himself. His fingers relaxed around the neck of the bottle and he stood up. A quick look in Anakin’s room showed that all was well. Obi-Wan climbed into bed and turned off the light.

He dreamed about the first time he was ever drunk. It wasn’t actually his fault, though, because some of his friends had thought it would be funny to spike his drink at someone’s knighting party. He had kept drinking it though, even after he realized it had alcohol in it. Qui-Gon was amused as well, given Obi-Wan’s reputation for following rules, and wasn’t terribly serious about giving him the lecture that Obi-Wan had drunkenly demanded. Then the scene changed and the Devaronian president was sitting next to him again, her hands roaming all over his body. Her eyes gleamed yellow like Darth Maul’s had as she stripped Obi-Wan’s clothes off with half-rotten dead hands.

In the morning Obi-Wan felt much better. His bad dreams were just that—dreams. They were clearly the product of his mind trying to process some of his recent bad experiences. He reread his mission report and submitted it. The result of his mission had been good, even if it had been thoroughly unpleasant at the time. Anakin had only missed one day of school.

As soon as Anakin had left for his classes, Obi-Wan went to the Archives. He needed to study, too, if he was to be a good teacher. The archives were huge, quiet, and had a hint of that sweet, dusty smell of old-fashioned paper books. It was relaxing, although Obi-Wan was still a little scared of Madam Jocasta Nu even now, as a grown man with a padawan of his own. He still expected her to whack him over the head with a datapad for being late returning his holobooks.

He was minding his own business, looking through the child psychology section, when sure enough he felt the familiar presence behind him. He turned around to face the ancient master.

“Hello there.” He flashed his trademark winning smile.

“Struggling with your padawan? Trying to get into his mind? If you can figure out how his mind works, maybe you can figure out why he brings his holobooks, gets sidetracked harassing my droids, then scampers off without actually dropping off his overdue holobooks. Most extraordinary.”

Obi-Wan’s smile shifted into a sheepish grin. “Yes, that’s the kind of thing he does. He means no harm, though. He’s built several droids of his own so he has an urge to examine yours to see how they work. I’ll tell him to ask your permission first.”

Madam Nu graced him with a rare smile. He finally realized that she had always been fond of him. Here was an older woman who wasn’t going to touch him inappropriately or make unwelcome lewd remarks.

He was a little dizzy when he met Anakin for lunch, but he blamed this on his poor sleep lately. He took a mouthful of tea from his thermos and then remembered that it was fortified with Corellian brandy. He swallowed it, felt firmer, and proceeded to order for both of them.

“Master, I’d like you to join me in the pool again today. I’m learning breaststroke but I’d like you to be there.”

“Sure. I’d like to see your progress.”

Obi-Wan was in his battered old swimming trunks, about to join his apprentice in the water, when he noticed a blonde woman watching him. He would know that face anywhere. Siri Tachi was looking at him, recognizing him, seeing how his body had changed, assessing the amount of hair on his chest, taking a mental inventory of the scars on his body, noticing Anakin tugging on his threadbare trunks to hurry him up. There had been a time when they had struggled but mostly succeeded at keeping their hands off of each other. Now, if she wanted, she could stride up to him and touch his bare skin. She wouldn’t, though. They were Jedi, they had made the decision together. Anakin was blissfully unaware. Obi-Wan slipped into the water and turned his attention to his apprentice. He watched Anakin swim for a while, then gave advice on improving his form, demonstrating his points by swimming himself. “Anakin, the key is to avoid sinking too low. You want to move forward, not up and down. Watch me, see how I stay steady in the water.”

Obi-Wan almost forgot that Siri was watching him, too. Almost. He could feel her gaze on his back, watching his muscles move as he pulled himself through the water. He remembered hugging her, feeling the warmth of her body through their thin inner tunics. She admitted to liking skinny men then; did she think his body was a disappointment now, or was she impressed by the muscular inverted triangle shape that human women were supposed to appreciate in human men? Not that it mattered anymore.

He was still thinking of Siri when he felt a panicked pull on his training bond with Anakin. The boy was drowning. Obi-Wan swam to his padawan as fast as he could and pulled him up, out of the water. This was his fault for not paying attention. He had failed Anakin yet again.

Siri came up and threw a towel on them both as Obi-Wan pressed on Anakin’s chest, trying to get the water out. Anakin’s condition did not seem to improve much so she rubbed Obi-Wan down with the towel, then helped him wrap the boy in it and carry him to the Halls of Healing. She was more beautiful than he remembered, but just as kind. Her fingers touching his skin was just as electrifying as ever. As soon as they reached the Halls of Healing and Master Che appeared with a playfully scolding look on her face, Siri Tachi slipped away.

“What’s the injury du jour? Just kidding, it’s pretty obvious. You did a credible job getting the water out of his lungs. You can sit in the waiting room—take the towel with you—and we’ll take it from here.”

Master Che glanced at Obi-Wan’s chest and back, noting the scars that weren’t in her records. She would have to scold him again for avoiding medical care, but now was not the time. The upper half of his body was already mostly dry, including his hair, but his swimming trunks were still wet.

Sitting in the waiting area Obi-Wan buried his head in his hands and slumped over. He had failed his padawan yet again. He could really use a drink right now but his thermos was in the locker room by the pool. He didn’t notice when a Kiffar knight with long black dreads sat down next to him.

“Hey, what are you doing hanging around out here? If I’d made a daring escape from a bacta tank in those briefs I wouldn’t stick around to get caught. Obi-Wan? Is that really you?”

Obi-Wan looked up at Quinlan Vos. “My padawan drowned, and it’s my fault. We were doing well until I noticed Siri watching me and I lost focus.”

Quinlan shook his head in pity. “You thought Siri saw you in those swimming trunks. Faded and threadbare. I see. You were teaching that kid to swim? The wonder boy from Tatooine who won the Boonta Eve Classic?”

“Yes, of course. A Jedi must be able to swim. I’ve had to swim on more missions than I remember. Anyway, what about you? What are you doing here?”

“Wild Space vaccinations.”

“Can’t talk about it?”

“Can’t talk about it. But I can talk about some recent past missions. I go to Tatooine a lot, and I tracked down wonder boy’s mother. She was sold to a moisture farmer who freed her and married her. Here’s a holo of her with her new family.”

Obi-Wan had never met Shmi Skywalker, but the woman in the holo was obviously happy with her bearded farmer and a brown-haired boy who looked a little older than Anakin. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure about sharing this information with the boy; he might be distraught by the idea that his mother had replaced him. He sat and stroked his beard before he spoke.

“She’s going to be so pleased when she finds out that the tall Jedi who took her son away, the same one who had a habit of collecting pathetic lifeforms, died almost immediately, leaving her boy in the care of the most pathetic lifeform of all, who has now let her baby drown.”

“The boy’s going to live, isn’t he? Oh, and you can have the rest of this. I can’t drink it because of my vaccinations, and I think you need it more than I do. Baby Face Kenobi. Doesn’t look like a youngling himself anymore, but having a padawan will do that to anybody.”

Quinlan Vos handed him a bottle that was a third full. The label said “Fine Stewjon 17-Year-Old Whisky.”

Obi-Wan accepted it, opened the top, and took a draught. “You went to Stewjon? I’ve never been there, aside from being born there, that is.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Beautiful planet, too bad about the people. Not you, of course. A lot of them look like you and have the name Kenobi, but most of the adults were either drunk or on deathsticks.”

Obi-Wan considered this, then took several more draughts. “A lot of red-headed drunk Kenobis.”

“Yeah, easy there. You already have enough hair on your chest.”

“I don’t have pockets on my swimming trunks. How else am I going to store the contents?” Obi-Wan swirled the brown liquid in his mouth before swallowing it. “This is really good.”

At that point one of the apprentice healers came out. “Knight Vos.”

“See you later.” Quinlan put on a brave face and disappeared into the recesses of the Halls of Healing. Obi-Wan continued to sit and drink his whisky. He was so lucky that Quinlan Vos had come by with the good stuff to calm his nerves.

By the time his friend came out with a small bandage on his arm, Obi-Wan had emptied the bottle. “Here, take the empty bottle. As I said, I don’t have any way to hold on to it, and I don’t want my boy to see it when he comes out. It was just what I needed. Thanks.”

Quinlan Vos accepted the bottle and shook his head. “You’ve changed, Obi-Wan. If you can drink like that, you could join me on the kind of missions I go on. Well, take care, wish me luck.”

“I will.”

Obi-Wan sat by himself in the waiting room for what felt like a year. Was this what it was like to be a parent? He thought about all the times he told Anakin to stop playing with his food, eat his vegetables, clean his room, go to bed. When they posed as father and son on an undercover mission it had felt so natural that it had taken Anakin a while to stop calling Obi-Wan “Dad” afterwards. Maybe Obi-Wan was already the boy’s dad in all but name.

“Kenobi.” Master Che herself called him into the recovery room. Obi-Wan sat down next to the bed, making sure to put the towel down first, and took Anakin’s hand, flooding their training bond with reassurance. He hardly noticed how intently Master Che was studying the scars on his back, the back of his neck that was now completely exposed, and the sides of his legs. She made some notes in his file, then rubbed bacta gel on his newer scars for good measure, without even asking. At this point he turned to face her, still gripping Anakin’s hand, so she took notes on his chest and belly as well. He raised an incredulous eyebrow at her. She better not ask for a blood test, because she would find the whisky he had been drinking.

“Just updating your file as noninvasively as I can.” She tossed her lekku in a move that she hoped looked nonchalant, although they both knew that he wasn’t fooled. The Twi’lek healer loved a challenge, which was why Obi-Wan was her favorite patient although Anakin was a close second. The pair were adorably ridiculous.

“I think we’ll keep him here tonight. You boys don’t rest unless supervised. You probably won’t get any sleep either but at least you can get dinner.”

Obi-Wan gave her a weak smile and squeezed Anakin’s hand one more time before getting up to go. “I’ll go find my clothes, too.”

“Good idea.”

Obi-Wan ignored the sarcastic tone as he slung the towel over his shoulder and returned to the pool. Tossing the towel into the laundry chute, he took a quick shower and got dressed. Once he was fully clothed again he took another swig of his brandy-fortified tea. He definitely deserved it.

He was just finishing his dinner at the refectory when he spotted Siri Tachi entering. There was no way he could face her, not after what she’d witnessed. She had only helped him because it was normal to help a fellow Jedi in need, not because that individual happened to be him.

Obi-Wan drifted out of the Jedi Temple and into the urban jungle of Coruscant. He remembered the seedy bars he had been to last time with a shudder. No, better stick to classier establishments. If Master Dooku were to drink, where would he go? Obi-Wan settled for a wine bar in the lower part of the city that could be considered “aspirational” if one were being generous. When he tried to enter, however, the slick Rodian at the front door frowned and said, “Sorry, no Jedi served here.”

It wasn’t Obi-Wan’s fault that he ended up back at the same bar where Master Dooku found him before. This time, he would be more careful about leaving while he was still lucid. The barman recognized him, but luckily it wasn’t the same person. Obi-Wan had been here a few times with his friends for after-parties celebrating someone’s knighting. If he joined a game of Sabacc this would force him to stay alert, but the sleemos who gambled here wouldn’t tolerate a Jedi joining their game, especially when they found out Obi-Wan had been Qui-Gon’s apprentice. Jedi couldn’t be trusted not to cheat with mind tricks, especially after they’d had a few inhibition-lowering drinks. Besides, one didn’t go to bars to stay sober. This place with its garish colored lights and loud music was intolerable sober.

When Obi-Wan strode up to the bar, he ordered Gungan rum on a whim. He had liked it when Supreme Chancellor Palpatine gave him some. That stuff wasn’t half bad, except that it reminded him of the maddening but strangely lovable walking disaster that was Jar-Jar Binks. _I wonder how he’s doing, dear Jar-Jar old boy._ Rum tended to make Obi-Wan more charitable.

He knocked back the rum shots so fast that the barman laughed, “You should have ordered by the bottle!”

This caught the attention of a disheveled man with antennae. “You wanna buy some deathsticks?”

Deathsticks. Obi-Wan had heard horror stories about them. He remembered what Quinlan Vos had said about deathstick addiction on Stewjon. It could be considered part of his culture, but he was also a Jedi. No, better stay away, at least while Anakin was small. Anakin. The poor boy was stuck in the Halls of Healing overnight.

“No thanks, not this time. I’ll have another shot of rum instead.”

He was starting to feel better already, lighter on his feet. It wouldn’t do to flood his training bond with worry; he was doing the boy a favor by dulling his Force presence. This time he would know when to stop.

“Hey handsome, you’re back!” The same skanky blonde as before noticed him and moved to the bar stool next to him. The brown tattoos on her face confirmed his initial assessment of her to be a Zabrak. Obi-Wan didn’t especially want to kiss an Asajj Ventress lookalike; if she had more closely resembled Siri or Satine he would have been tempted. He still might be induced to kiss her tonight if he had several more drinks. She pulled a deathstick out of her bra, which was clearly visible peeking out from her low-cut top. He would need a lot more rum before he would kiss a deathstick addict.

She tried to scoot closer and fell off her stool. Obi-Wan helped her up without even thinking about it, but this seemed to give her the wrong idea. “You’re even more handsome than I remember!”

“Uh, thanks? Are you all right?” Obi-Wan finished off the whole bottle of rum, then waited for the woman to go to the fresher before he settled his bill and escaped into the Coruscant night. He still had some whiskey at home. This was perhaps not an ideal motivation to go home, but it was better than the alternative. Anakin wouldn’t be in his room anyway.

In the end Obi-Wan did not touch his whiskey bottles when he got home. Drinking a whole bottle of rum quickly meant that the effects took a while to catch up. One of those effects was that he needed to run to the fresher. When he was quite finished, his stomach was flatter than it had been in a while. If he kept this up, he might get back his skinny figure from when Siri fancied him all those years ago. Satine never said anything about it, but then, he was steadily getting thinner the whole time he was on his misadventure with her, so she was already in love with him by the time he had gotten emaciated. Obi-Wan did not bother to put on his sleep clothes.

“See, Kenobi, you Jedi are weak and foolish. The boy did drown, on your watch. You are going to rob me of the satisfaction of killing your precious Chosen One. While you chase skirts, I increase my skills. You underestimate the power of the Dark Side!” Yellow eyes flashed tauntingly, illuminating a red and black face. Darth Maul’s mechanical legs whirred busily. With no lower body to distract him, he could channel the energy that would have gone into suppressing sexual desire into hate and anger.

Obi-Wan knelt down in front of the Sith and lowered his head, inviting him to cleave it off with his red lightsaber. He didn’t even deserve to die in battle like a warrior. Execution like a common criminal was almost too good for someone who had bungled the upbringing of the Chosen One so badly.

Obi-Wan awoke with a start, then winced as he tried to lift his head. He probably shouldn’t have drunk an entire bottle of rum last night, although it was good that he had had the sense not to buy deathsticks. Who knows about next time. Obi-Wan realized that he couldn’t tell anyone in the Jedi Order about how much he actually drank. He would be reprimanded for his failures and his response to them, have Anakin taken away, be expelled from the Order as the pathetic lifeform that he was. A small swig from one of the whiskey bottles in his room would help. Luckily he had left them out last night. There, that’s better.

He got himself as presentable as he could and rushed to the Halls of Healing before even thinking about breakfast. He wasn’t hungry anyway. When he arrived Master Che took one look at him and clucked, “Look who didn’t get much sleep last night. Skywalker’s just waking up. Go ahead, take him home.”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan clasped his padawan’s hand in one of his hands and the boy’s padawan braid in the other. The boy smiled, genuinely happy to see the master who had failed him yet again.

“Master. I still want to learn to swim. I have to, in order to be a good Jedi someday. I need to be powerful so that I can free my mom and all the slaves.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “Actually, I got some news about your mother yesterday. She’s free now. I have a holo of her with her new husband and his son.” He hadn’t planned on blurting out the information like this, but perhaps it was for the best. Anakin would be angry if he found out a lot later and that his master had known all along but decided not to tell him.

Anakin’s expression was a little happier than Obi-Wan was expecting. He realized that he himself was the one with a fear of being replaced, more so than Anakin. Obi-Wan remembered that he had been wearing swimming trunks without pockets when he received the holo and had no clue what he had done with it after that. If he lost it, it would have been inside the Jedi Temple because he changed his clothes before going out drinking the night before.

“Did you drop this?” Master Che handed him the holo. “You were in a tizzy yesterday so I kept it for you.”

That was a nice way to put it. He had been worried but also intoxicated. Did Master Che suspect? He really must be more careful. As soon as Anakin was discharged they stopped by the refectory. Obi-Wan was beginning to feel like there were womp rats dancing in his stomach. A greasy fry-up would be good.


	9. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garen and Anakin have a lot in common. Also, Master Kit Fisto is awesome, but we knew that already.

After dropping Anakin off to class, Obi-Wan wandered into the Temple gardens to meditate on his recurring nightmares about Darth Maul. He sat cross-legged under Qui-Gon’s tree and focused his mind on its leaves. To his dismay he had a harder time entering a meditative state, due to his hangover, which was now hitting him full force. Good thing he was able to delay it until now. Anakin needed him to be functional this morning.

“Having trouble, Knight Kenobi?” A kindly face looked down at him. Its owner cast her dark eyes onto the ground next to him, wordlessly asking permission to join him. Obi-Wan smiled. Master Adi Gallia was welcome to join him anytime.

“Actually, there was something I wanted to tell you about.” As Knight Ventress had suggested, Obi-Wan told her about his unpleasant experiences on Devaron. He didn’t want anyone else to be caught unawares in the future. Besides, it was useful to have a genuine concern to share with her in order to deflect from his nightmares that he wasn’t ready to share. To his dismay, Master Gallia was not in the least bit surprised.

“I’m sorry. There have been reports over the years, but we knew from experience that negotiations with them actually go better when we send a young man. They underestimate him and unwittingly give him an advantage. On the other hand, I had no idea your eye and hair color would be such an issue. I’m really sorry.”

Obi-Wan could almost imagine Master Windu, maybe even Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, setting up a honey trap on purpose. This was disgusting. At the very least Obi-Wan would have wanted to know beforehand. It had almost certainly been other men who had put not only Obi-Wan himself but young Anakin into this frankly traumatic situation. _There is no anger_ , Obi-Wan recited to himself. He was definitely going to need a meditation session now.

“Oh, one more thing. There’s a little girl among the Initiates I worry about. A Twi’lek girl named Alema. She’s very powerful and smart, but she’s also a bit too arrogant and angry. She’ll be thirteen in three weeks but she doesn’t have a master yet. I can’t take her on because I’m too busy with the Council. You already have Anakin. Master Dooku says he’s too old and that girls are a lot more trouble than he first thought. Can you suggest someone? You know better than anybody what it’s like to turn thirteen and still not be able to get a master.”

Obi-Wan realized that this was the same girl as the one Anakin had recommended for Knight Ventress. A tough Twi’lek girl who cried in secret because she was quickly running out of time.

“I already suggested to Knight Ventress that she take the girl as her padawan. Master Dooku wants her to have one, and has been trying to convince her that she could manage because the Council let me have a padawan.”

“Knight Ventress! I’d totally forgotten about her. She would be a good fit. I’ll be sure to endorse her candidacy for Alema’s master to the Council if she declares her intention to take her.”

Obi-Wan hoped that Anakin wouldn’t mind too much that he had taken credit for the idea. He smiled politely as Master Gallia excused herself. At least someone was trying to prevent another child from being traumatized as he had been. It was always too late for Obi-Wan himself as the authorities learned from their mistreatment of him. The Jedi Council certainly meant no harm, but it could and did do damage. Obi-Wan thought of one person—not a Jedi—who never mistreated him. It had been a while since he had paid Supreme Chancellor Palpatine a friendly visit.

* * *

“Knight Kenobi, what a pleasant surprise. Have a cup of Naboo kaf with me.” The kindly old chancellor was all smiles as he made their secret special drink. He didn’t have much of a Force signature, but what he did have was cool in a strangely soothing way, like a medicinal herb good for treating burns. “It’s been a while, but I see you’re looking dapper. I trust you and your boy are doing well.”

Obi-Wan appreciated the praise. With his difficulty sleeping and hangover, his face was lined and tired-looking, which his neatly-trimmed beard couldn’t quite hide, but at least his clothes and hair looked tidy enough. He was happy with Anakin’s progress, but life was so hard sometimes.

“I read the report about your mission to Devaron. That is not a nice place for a young redheaded man to go. I’ve had some run-ins myself with Devaronian senators when I was younger and my hair was still red. I’m sorry that you had to endure it. Was it just you, or did you have your young apprentice with you?”

“I took my padawan, because the Council assumed that I would. I didn’t know about the liberties the politicians there like to take with foreign male diplomats. I was glad to have Anakin with me, because children do tend to put adults on their best behavior, but I didn’t really want him to witness some of that.”

“You have every right to be angry. That was a bit of hard luck. I hope your Council learns to appreciate you and sends you on nicer missions in the future.”

Obi-Wan considered remarking that anger was not the Jedi way, but thought better of it. He had chosen the company of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine precisely because he wasn’t a Jedi. Besides, it felt good to receive the old man’s goodwill, even in the form of righteous anger expressed on Obi-Wan’s behalf. In general Obi-Wan hated politicians, but there were a few exceptions. Satine of Mandalore was obviously his favorite politician, but he had formed a good impression of the young Queen of Naboo, young Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan, and of course he counted Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine of Naboo as a personal friend, which was a rare honor.

“A young man of your caliber doesn’t come up very often. Oh well, we all must do what we must. Would you like another cup?”

Why not. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine wouldn’t remark on how much Obi-Wan drank. He was a sophisticated man with genteel tastes who understood that a splash of brandy in one’s kaf was not debauchery but refinement. The only reason Obi-Wan had to hide his drinking was because of the incomprehension of the philistines around him, not because he was ashamed or doing something he shouldn’t. It was simply exhausting. On the other hand, he could be himself and let go in the company of the grandfatherly chancellor. Obi-Wan accepted with pleasure.

“I’ve been teaching Anakin to swim, and I had a right good scare just yesterday. He very nearly drowned. And it was my fault, too. I had just spotted an old friend and lost focus on my padawan, and then he started to drown.” Obi-Wan had no reason to believe that Supreme Chancellor Palpatine would be remotely interested in this story, but he still found himself telling it, although he thought it prudent not to explain what sort of a friend Siri had been.

“Don’t blame yourself too much. It’s not easy bringing up a child, especially a young boy of Anakin’s age. Boys that age need to explore and play and push their boundaries. Unfortunately that means pushing their guardians to the limit sometimes.” He chuckled as he sipped his kaf. Obi-Wan had almost finished his already.

“I hear that Devaronian politicians like to try to challenge foreign diplomats to drinking matches in order to gain the upper hand.” Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s voice had the perfect mix of mild interest, subtle amusement, and gentle humor.

“Oh yes. They did try to drink me under the table, but I bested them at their own game. I’m not really proud of this, but one does what one must, as you put it. I didn’t include it in my report, though.”

“I believe that was prudent. People who have never experienced that situation have no business judging you, but they would if given the chance. It’s one of the unfortunate truths of our world. Well, that’s enough unpleasantness, even though you’re welcome to tell me all about it if you wish. Oh yes, I received yet another interesting gift. Have you ever tried Novanian grog?”

“No, I don’t believe I have.” Obi-Wan’s interest was piqued, but he didn’t want to appear too eager. It was important to cultivate an image as a sophisticated man of taste, not a greedy drunk.

“Well, it’s rather expensive, but I’m afraid I’m not very fond of it. Perhaps you might like to try it.” Supreme Chancellor Palpatine produced a discreetly-wrapped parcel that he handed to Obi-Wan. It felt quite heavy, suggesting that it was dense and satisfying, at least as far as sheer weight went.

“Thank you, Chancellor. It’s always a pleasure visiting you. I feel much better about everything afterwards.”

* * *

Darth Sidious was amazed at how easy it was to feed Kenobi’s discontent, which after all stemmed from his need to protect the boy. Those feelings did him credit, but Darth Sidious needed them to morph into jealousy and anger. So far Kenobi lacked the sense of entitlement needed to make that happen.

He did express mild disappointment at the Jedi Council having chosen him for a mission that relied in part on the other side reacting to basic facts about himself that were beyond his control, rather than his talents. Darth Sidious knew the details of the sexual harassment young Kenobi had received because one of the Devaronian staffers had once interned under him and still kept in contact with him, since he had helped her with her own case of sexual harassment.

It was truly incredible that Kenobi failed to see that he was a good-looking young man and that his looks would be used against him unless he started to use them for his own advantage. He did seem to be trying to present himself a little better, but that was more out of his need for tidiness and not a manifestation of vanity. If he were even a little bit vain it would be much easier to foster discontent with the Jedi Order’s treatment of him, rather than disappointment in broken ideals.

That said, Darth Sidious did have cause to celebrate. The nightmare program seemed to be working well. Besides, the young man’s seduction by that siren in a bottle was a resounding success. The more bad things happened to that child, the more Kenobi would drink. With Ventress about to take a padawan and get much busier, his support network might constrict. Although it was not uncommon for two master-padawan pairs to go on joint missions, this wouldn’t happen right away with Kenobi and Ventress. Dooku was still a potential hindrance, but Vos was a surprising if unwitting ally. All in all, things were going better than planned.

* * *

Obi-Wan found the weight of the grog in his cloak pocket comforting as he met Knight Ventress to visit the Initiates. Since Anakin had been unusually young as a padawan, Obi-Wan had made an effort to get to know other younglings Anakin’s age and encourage them to befriend his charge. He smiled to himself as he thought of all of the times he told Qui-Gon he didn’t especially like younglings and wouldn’t take a padawan after being knighted. Now his world revolved around Anakin.

“Here we are. Let me introduce you.” Obi-Wan opened the door to the Initiates’ and younglings’ shared breakroom. He knew their class schedule well enough to time his visit because he had spent the past two years ensuring that Anakin got to his classes on time.

“Master Obi-Wan!” Knight Ventress was amazed when she saw her lineage-mate be mobbed by the younglings within seconds of entering the room. She had no idea he was so popular with the pre-padawan set. He picked up a little Togruta girl no older than seven who promptly began to stroke his beard.

“Hello there, Ahsoka.” He was smiling. Not only that, he knew the child’s name. Asajj Ventress only knew one individual under fifteen by name, and that was Anakin Skywalker. “I’d like you to meet my friend, Knight Asajj Ventress.”

Knight Ventress realized that she had no idea how to interact with young children, having not had much of a childhood herself, but Obi-Wan was doing a good job of selling her to the younglings. She smiled and waved, trying not to project her usual air of intimidation.

Obi-Wan put down the little girl and moved toward the middle of the room, followed by his retinue of pint-sized fans, as well as Knight Ventress herself. When he spotted a Twi’lek girl who looked about thirteen, he stopped in front of her. “Alema, I brought someone I’d like you to meet. This is Asajj Ventress, my lineage-mate. Her master was my grand-master.” Then, maddeningly, he stepped out of the way and let Knight Ventress come up to the girl.

* * *

When Obi-Wan met Anakin at the end of his school day, he left Knight Ventress with Alema. Anakin had been right about that pairing. “I think Asajj will probably take Alema as her padawan. I introduced them today.”

Anakin smiled more broadly than Obi-Wan had seen him do for weeks. “I told you so. I’m glad. Hey, I want to swim again today. I don’t want the water to win!”

“Are you sure? If you’re ready, then I’ll join you.” Obi-Wan didn’t like to encourage Anakin’s competitive spirit or his need to conquer, but conquering bad experiences or fears was good. Anakin certainly needed adult supervision in the water, and Obi-Wan himself could use a positive experience with this to override the negative emotions he had about having let Anakin down the day before.

Oh yeah. Obi-Wan’s threadbare old swimming trunks had not returned from the laundry department yet. Neither had Anakin’s, for that matter. Perhaps they could borrow some at the pool. Of all the days to be seen by his old flame, it had to be yesterday, when he was not at his best. Obi-Wan’s life was like that in general. Wait a minute. That couldn’t have been Siri; she left the Order in disgrace. _Great, now I’m seeing things. I need a drink._ Obi-Wan took a swig from his thermos and centered himself before taking Anakin to the pool.

This time, Anakin did not drown, and he improved both his time and total distance on his breaststroke. Anakin himself had chosen to focus on the most practical of swimming forms, deciding that he didn’t need the butterfly stroke or backstroke on missions, but the crawl would be useful for speed, while the breaststroke was good for long distances. Luckily Obi-Wan was especially good at both of these. As long as he had his master in the water with him, Anakin felt safe enough. To think that just two years ago, Anakin had never seen so much water in one place!

They were almost at the end of their session when Master Fisto called to them from the poolside. “Obi-Wan! Your comm has been beeping incessantly in the locker room for the last ten minutes. In my experience that usually means a Council summons. I can watch over your padawan while you go answer it.”

Obi-Wan nodded his assent, pulled himself up out of the water, patted Master Fisto on the shoulder in a gesture of gratitude, and hurried to the locker room. What could the Council want from him that was so important? Had they heard about his recent haunting of that seedy bar in the lower level of the city? No, it was probably a mission.

“Kenobi.” He stood in the locker room, still sopping wet.

“Finally. We’ve been trying to reach you.” Master Windu sounded irritated on the other end. He was a very busy man with a lot of responsibility, so it was not surprising that he would not enjoy being made to wait.

“Sorry, I was giving Anakin a swimming lesson in the pool. Anyway, what is it? Is it a mission?”

“Yes, it’s a mission. There’s been an attempt to steal the Loag Dagger from the Galactic Museum. The senator from Merisee was upset about it, and demanded that the only knight who had killed a Sith in a thousand years should be the one to investigate it. Obviously that’s you. I suspect it’s too dangerous to take Anakin if it’s the Loag cult acting up again, but if it’s just plain thievery, I suppose you could take him with you when you go to Merisee.”

“Merisee? Wouldn’t I be investigating here first?”

“Come to the Council chamber first thing tomorrow morning and find out. Windu, out.”

“All right. Kenobi, out.”

Obi-Wan put his comm back into his locker and returned to the pool. He smiled to see Master Fisto working with Anakin on his form. Leave it to a master of an aquatic species to bring a fresh perspective. Obi-Wan had always admired Master Fisto from afar; he should have involved him much sooner in Anakin’s swimming instruction. Master Fisto should really be on the Council someday. Obi-Wan sat on the ledge, dangling his legs into the water, as he watched the pair. A nice, tropical drink right now would be perfect, some kind of fruit juice mixed with rum. When Anakin noticed him, Obi-Wan waved, indicating that he would be happy to let Master Fisto continue.

After Anakin’s lesson, Master Fisto and Anakin joined Obi-Wan on the ledge. “I hope you made it in time on your comm. Was it Master Windu?” Master Fisto turned his friendly big black eyes on Obi-Wan.

“Yes, it was Master Windu. I got an assignment, an investigation. It looks like I’ll have to go to Merisee.”

“Can I come too?” Anakin perked up at the idea of an investigation. It certainly sounded more promising to him than a diplomatic mission.

“Maybe. I don’t know yet. I’ll find out at the briefing tomorrow morning.”

“Anakin, if it looks like you have to stay here, would you like to continue swimming with me, at least until your master gets back?” Master Fisto was really too kind. If Master Dooku or Knight Ventress did lightsaber work with Anakin, Obi-Wan would feel all right about leaving him behind. Perhaps Master Dooku would take it upon himself to stay overnight with the boy, or one of Obi-Wan’s old chums, perhaps Garen Muln or Reeft could be persuaded. This was doable.

Obi-Wan decided that dinner in the refectory was the best way to engineer running into someone to help in case he couldn’t take Anakin. As luck would have it, Garen Muln happened to be right ahead of him in line.

“Hey, Gar.” Obi-Wan sneaked up on his old friend from behind, hoping to make him jump. Anakin giggled when Garen did just that.

“It’s not funny anymore, Obi.” Garen turned around to face Obi-Wan, then smiled politely when he noticed Anakin.

“Oh yes, it is still funny. Always will be. Anyway, I don’t think you’ve met my padawan. Garen Muln, this is Anakin Skywalker.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Garen works with starfighters all day, and Anakin won the Boonta Eve Classic on Tatooine about two years ago.” These were the magic words. Obi-Wan knew that instant bonding would occur if Garen and Anakin got to talking about ships. Sure enough, both faces lit up.

“Did you build your own pod?” Garen was almost more excited than Anakin was.

“Hey, wait for me!” Obi-Wan found himself left behind in the refectory line as his friend and his apprentice claimed seats together. Now he had at least two adults he could ask to watch Anakin if necessary.

Obi-Wan found that he couldn’t get a word in edgewise, but it was enough to see Anakin happy to find a new friend. The boy would be all right. Obi-Wan relaxed into his seat and ate his meal. A nice big decanter of claret would be perfect right now. The best thing about this potential mission to Merisee was that it was a system known for its alcoholic drinks. If he took Anakin he wouldn’t be able to drink as much or smuggle back personal mementoes. Even the preliminary investigation on Coruscant might take him to seedy places where he would have to order a drink to blend in. This whole mission was going to be a lot more enjoyable than the last one.

Anakin was in a good mood when he went to bed, and so was Obi-Wan. He considered drinking from one of his bottles that had collected under his bed again, but then, he didn’t want the Council to have second thoughts about sending him to Merisee. In the end, he took several long draughts from his spiked tea, then brewed some more to go in the thermos, taking care to leave enough room for the brandy.

“Master, no!” The familiar blue eyes were beginning to close as a warm, calloused hand reached for his padawan braid. Obi-Wan reached for it as well, but did not find it. Instead there was merely the tapered stubble of his short-cropped cut. The figure in his arms seemed to change too, this time sporting a padawan braid that was sopping wet. The moisture was not water, however. It looked like blood, but Obi-Wan recognized it as a full-bodied red wine before waking up with a start. Oh no, not another nightmare. Obi-Wan rubbed the spot behind his ear where his padawan braid used to start. This was a nervous habit that he had yet to break, even two years after knighting.


	10. Merisee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan discovers utoz, which I imagined as being similar to shochu, the most cost-effective type of booze popular among alcoholics in Japan. Bottoms up!

First thing in the morning Obi-Wan made himself a Naboo kaf before reporting to the Council, Anakin in tow. If they were going together, this would be more convenient; if not, he could drop Anakin off to class on his way out on his mission. Garen, Master Dooku, and Master Fisto could take care of the rest in that case. Knight Ventress was probably too busy with her own preparations to take Alema as her padawan.

“Knight Kenobi, Padawan Skywalker.” It was Master Poof who addressed them first. “There was an attempt to steal the Loag Dagger from the Galactic Museum. Are you familiar with the artefact?”

“Yes, Master Poof. I know it’s a black blade with a ruby on the hilt and that it was a ceremonial object for the Loag assassins in their cult.” Obi-Wan had taken the precaution of looking it up, although he remembered it pretty well from field trips to the Museum as a youngling. Anakin wouldn’t know much about it, so he went into more detail than necessary, thinking that Anakin would need the information if he were to accompany Obi-Wan on the mission.

“Yes, that is correct. Judging by the security holovids, there was only one Teltior thief, but he was quick and nimble enough to get away, although without his prize. He was not quick enough, however, to avoid assassination. Coruscant police have identified the murder weapon as one favored by Loag assassins. You will have to go to Merisee and investigate. We received a request from the Galactic Senator representing that system to send you in particular.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head in a show of humility. Since the members of the Council could see inside his mind if they wanted, he suppressed all thoughts of the mission in front of him being Anakin-free. Of course he loved his padawan more than anything in the galaxy—which in itself, was problematic—but he wanted to keep the boy safe, too, since he was only eleven years old with a half-trained Force presence that could get them both killed. Then, of course, there were the beauties in bottles that would be waiting for him. He couldn’t very well partake with Anakin in tow. What was he thinking, he better not drink on duty! Obi-Wan forced himself to focus on the present.

“Dangerous the mission is, great trust in you Merisee has.” Master Yoda thumped his gimmer stick in a way that suggested that he did not share this great trust. Did he know about Obi-Wan’s drinking? Or was he simply concerned that killing a Sith was not the same as taking on a whole cult of assassins?

“The mission is probably too dangerous for a child. Anakin will have to stay here.” Master Koon radiated concern and reassurance at the same time, no easy feat.

“I can ask my old friend Knight Muln, Master Fisto, and perhaps Master Dooku to oversee Anakin’s studies in my absence.” Obi-Wan kept his head bowed.

“Good. We don’t know what kind of Force abilities or tricks these Loag assassins might use, so it’s safer if you’re not worrying about your padawan if they do hack into your mind.” Master Gallia had a way of looking warm and caring while saying the most frightening things.

“Remember, this is a fact-finding mission. You are to observe the Loag Citadel and determine whether cult activities have resumed. It might be safest to pose as some sort of tourist, or a bumbling inspector who will put any nefarious characters at ease, making them sloppy.” Master Windu continued. “Do you have any questions? You’ll find the rest of the available information in your mission brief. May the Force be with you.”

At this point it was still early enough that Obi-Wan had time to collect some takeout for Anakin from the refectory, to be munched on the way to class. His next stop would be Garen’s quarters, followed by Master Fisto’s. Obi-Wan glanced at his chrono and realized that he had time to call on Master Dooku as well.

“Ah, good morning Obi-Wan. You’re up early. I see you took my advice. Looks good. But that’s not why you came to see me this early, is it?”

“No. I have a solo mission that the Council decided was too dangerous for Anakin. I have Knight Muln and Master Fisto willing to watch Anakin, but you’re the only one who has put him to bed besides me, so I know for sure that he’ll trust you. Any lightsaber work you could do with him would be appreciated, too. I would ask Asajj but I suspect she’s busy.”

Master Dooku smiled. “Yes, she is. She’s in the middle of the procedure for taking on a padawan. I met the girl, I think she’s a good fit. Asajj told me Anakin was the matchmaker. Well, anyway, yes, I’d be happy to help with Anakin while you’re away. Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”

“I should hope so. They requested me by name.”

“Well, in that case, may the Force be with you.”

* * *

Merisee was a planet like any other, with warm oceans and rolling plains marking it as one of natural beauty. The inhabitants were friendly and polite when Obi-Wan landed, extending their three-fingered hands for handshakes. Obi-Wan did not find the women beautiful with their blue skin, short tails, and shaved heads, but he wasn’t there to appreciate the beauty of the planet’s residents.

Because Merisee was in the Outer Rim, it took Obi-Wan two days to get there. By the time he arrived, he was tired of ration bars and happy for the warm meals provided through the Senator’s office. The food was exceptionally good because Tozzin Foods had its plant there on Merisee. For an Outer Rim planet the environment was comfortable and hospitable; there was no comparison to Tatooine.

Senator Hrod Milew’s aides were more professional and kinder than the people Obi-Wan had encountered on Devaron, but that wasn’t saying much. The lady who greeted him was friendly without being predatory. “Welcome, Master Jedi. It was so good of you to come on such short notice.”

“I’m flattered that my presence was specifically requested.” Obi-Wan could play the charming emissary in his sleep, or drunk, for that matter.

“Let me show you to your accommodations. I’m afraid none of the windows have very nice views. Our planet is mostly farmland, sea, and agribusiness facilities, I’m afraid. Your room has a view of the Utozz Prime Brewery. Please help yourself to anything in the cooling unit. There is only one hotel on our planet, so I’m sorry we couldn’t provide better lodgings.”

“Oh please, don’t worry about it. I’m a Jedi, I don’t expect luxury or even comfort.” This was true, but the mention of the minibar in his hotel room told him that his accommodations would be more than satisfactory.

After dinner on that first night, Obi-Wan retired to his hotel room to file his arrival confirmation to Master Windu. The utoz served before and after dinner had been a revelation. It was similar to whiskey but the burn was smoother, the aroma more pungent while the flavor profile was clear yet hearty. It would be an excellent base for many cocktails. Obi-Wan was delighted to find utoz mini-bottles in the cabinets above the electronic kettle as well as the expected ales and beers in the cooling unit itself. This was a planet known for its grain production, after all.

Obi-Wan settled into the easy chair in the smallish hotel room with his datapad and one of the beers from the cooling unit. It was a particularly light, fruity brew that went well with researching the history and geography of Merisee. Despite the mostly flat terrain, there was one dormant volcano. Perhaps this wasn’t so surprising, given that most of the planet was ocean. Aha, this was what he wanted to know. If the Loag were Dark Side Force-users, they would have been naturally drawn to the angry majesty of a volcano, making this a likely spot for holy sites. Even if the Loag weren’t Force-sensitive, they still might be attracted to the volcano out of sheer primitive religious fear of its destructive power. It was a good thing he had downloaded the relevant information about Merisee from the Archives into his datapad. There was plenty to study, although of course he had gotten a head start during his journey here. Somehow the information seemed to sink in better when he had a beer in hand.

Speaking of which, he found that he had emptied the beer can. Time to try the ale. This was frothy and dark, almost like a porter. The bitter but rich, kaf-like flavor filled his palate and flooded his brain with pleasure. He really must recommend these brews to Dex. They ought to be available on Coruscant.

That night he had vague dreams about dancing around molten lava that was somehow not dangerous, because, as he said in his dream, he had the high ground. This was neither a happy dream or a nightmare, and he was pretty sure it had originated from his own brain and not been transmitted to him from Anakin over the training bond. Oh yes, Anakin. Obi-Wan tugged gently on the training bond to make sure that Anakin was asleep, as he was supposed to be. Good, he didn’t seem to be having any nightmares. Perhaps Master Dooku had been there. Obi-Wan was probably dreaming about lava because of his research on the volcano, anyway.

Early in their partnership Obi-Wan had struggled to shield Anakin from his own nightmares and flashbacks; the boy had plenty of his own, and certainly didn’t need his master’s. This had never been a problem with Qui-Gon, because he was much older and more experienced with not having nightmares in the first place, while both Obi-Wan and Anakin had vivid nightmares. The responsibility for containing them of course rested with Obi-Wan as the master. He had found that alcohol helped with this, by dimming his Force presence enough that whatever nightmares he did have were not broadcast at full strength to Anakin.

In the morning Obi-Wan took a swig from his thermos as a little pick-me-up before heading to breakfast. The same aide as the night before was there, so he asked if he could join her. People were often less guarded over meals and more likely to spill useful information. Obi-Wan had been on enough of these missions to have a good many such tricks.

“I read up on your planet before I came. It’s more beautiful in person than any of the images I saw. Even the volcano has a terrible beauty to it.”

The aide’s expression clouded over for a moment before she put on her diplomatic smile. “Yes, we do have a volcano, but it’s been dormant for a long time. I can assure you, it’s quite safe.”

“That’s good to know. I was hoping to do some exploring of your beautiful planet as part of my visit.” He knew not to call it an investigation, even though that was exactly what it was.

After breakfast Obi-Wan was given the grand tour of the Tozzin Foods plant as well as the capital. He didn’t really care about the food-processing plant, but feigned great interest with that mildly pleasant diplomatic mask of his. He did not sense any Force presences other than himself, either. If the Loag were Force-users, their shielding was excellent.

After another pleasant meal accompanied by blond ale, Obi-Wan began to get restless. He had the feeling that his visit was being contained and confined to the typical tourist pattern, although there was really not much to see that would be of interest to an actual tourist. This feeling of being hamstrung was extremely frustrating, although Obi-Wan knew that he had to be patient and trust the Force.

Luckily for Obi-Wan, the brewery, which would have been the attraction earmarked for the afternoon, was not ready for guided tours, leaving him with the afternoon free. He told the aide he was tired and had reports to file about the food processing-plant, although he might take a walk later. In truth, he was going to go investigate the volcano. This was going to be tricky, as the volcano was located by the land bridge that linked the two halves of dry land. The land bridge was not within walking distance of the capital city, and there were no speeder rental agencies. Even if there were, a Jedi who was supposed to be in his hotel room going out to rent a speeder would attract attention. He would have to take public transportation, preferably as the sole passenger, and then mind-trick the driver into not remembering him.

He just had a feeling that the aide was trying to hide the volcano from him somehow. Perhaps it was simply a matter of keeping outsiders away from holy sites, but it was always possible that there was indeed something nefarious going on there. The first step, however, would be to exit the building undetected. But before he did, it seemed prudent to slip a bottle of utoz into his cloak pocket just in case. Really there was nothing suspicious about going for a walk, but he didn’t want people watching their chronos and waiting for his return.

Using his Force-cloaking to mask his presence, he slipped out into the hall when he was satisfied that there was nobody out there. His good luck continued all the way to the emergency exit at the end of the hallway. He stopped to consider that the security holocams would show him leaving this way. On the other hand, with his face hidden under his cloak hood, he could plausibly pass for a deathstick addict slipping out to the fire escape to indulge his filthy habit.

Once down the five flights of stairs, he was again lucky enough to catch a speederbus to the land bridge. He smiled when he realized that it was actually going to cross the land bridge. The other passengers appeared to be wrapped up in their datapads but Obi-Wan still tried to keep an eye on them. He could really use a drink right now to steel himself. Since none of the other passengers seemed to have a Force presence, Obi-Wan felt reasonably safe accepting the message when he felt a little pull on his training bond with Anakin.

“Hello Master! How’s your mission? Master Dooku picked me up from class yesterday and sparred with me. Then Garen came over in the evening and stayed the night. I like him very much!”

“I like him too. That’s why he’s one of my best friends. Did you two get into any mischief?” Obi-Wan desperately suppressed the thought that perhaps Anakin liked Garen better than him. He remembered enjoying the company of Qui-Gon’s friends, after all.

“Oh yes. We’re building a miniature starship. Then I’m going to build a droid pilot to fly it.”

“Good, sounds like fun.”

“I’m going swimming with Master Fisto today. I like him, too.”

“Yes, he was always kind to me. I’m glad you enjoy his lessons. It’s good to hear from you and see you’re doing well. I’m enjoying my mission but I don’t know yet if I’m in danger or not.”

“Be careful, Master.”

“I will.”

By the time the speederbus reached the land bridge, Obi-Wan was the only passenger left. He was glad he didn’t attempt this by foot, because the land bridge was just wide enough for the speederbus, with no room for a sidewalk on either side, although the rocky road would have been tough to walk anyway.

He got off at the end of the line and paid his fare wordlessly. The dormant volcano was not as large as he had expected. He considered walking around its perimeter, but remembered having read in his downloaded information that the ancient Loag sites were near the land bridge.

Sure enough, he found some stone pillars cut into the black volcanic rock. This must be the remains of the citadel. He had to force himself to move closer to the middle of the space, toward the altar. He winced as he felt the pain and terror of all the beings whose blood had been poured over the altar. It didn’t feel the way the Force around Darth Maul had, which suggested that this was not a Sith site. Even though the space made Obi-Wan feel ill, he saw no alternative but to stay for a while and possibly touch the altar. He moved closer still, clutching his gut with one hand while he extended the other hand out. When his fingers came into contact with the altar, however, he was very surprised to find it covered in a thick layer of dust. This altar had not been used for Loag assassin rites for a very long time, possibly a thousand years.

Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief, which turned out to be a mistake. His breath disturbed the top layer of dust, causing him to sneeze. His sneeze echoed through the cave for a long time. The place had remarkable acoustics. If assassins were hiding nearby, they would certainly find him now. He could perhaps sit against the wall and drink his bottle of utoz, maybe singing a drinking song, posing as a harmless drunk who had wandered into the wrong place.

Nobody came, however, so Obi-Wan decided to head back to his hotel. There was no threat from the Loag assassins after all. Emerging from the cave the afternoon sun hurt his blue-green eyes, but the healthy vegetation with its positive Force presence made him feel better immediately. He took a hearty drink from his thermos while he waited for the speederbus. The tea was at least a third brandy. He didn’t like the taste of brandy straight, but it mixed well with tea.

He realized that he was on the same speederbus as before. The driver would surely remember him this time, Force-cloak or no. Obi-Wan pulled his bottle of utoz out of his cloak pocket and drank from it in a way that suggested a drunk making a big production out of drinking “in secret.” If the driver remembered him at all, it would be as a drunk who went to the volcano to binge in peace.

When he finally got back to the street behind his hotel, he discovered to his surprise that he had already finished the entire bottle of utoz. He didn’t feel drunk until he stood to exit the bus, fumbling to pay his fare. _That’s odd, I don’t remember drinking the whole bottle._

How was he going to slip back into the hotel undetected, in this state? This is where years of Jedi training comes in handy. He left the empty bottle outside the dumpster by the service entrance and wandered in that way. If anyone noticed him he could claim to have gotten lost inside the hotel looking for exercise facilities or something like that. There was no way this hotel had a dojo or pool, but with his Core accent he could pretend to be incredulous about it.

He was almost disappointed when nobody stopped him in the hall as he made his way back to his room. His progress was slower than he would have liked but he was still able to concentrate his faculties on getting up to his floor and down the hall, unlocking his door and going inside without anyone seeing him.

According to the chrono on the wall he had a half hour to clean up for dinner. Obi-Wan took off his cloak and sneezed again. He went into the fresher to splash some water on his face, hoping to get rid of dust and to sober up a bit, then saw that his hair was also covered in dust. His copper hair looked as blond as Anakin’s under a layer of thousand-year-old dust. He wasn’t sober enough to take a shower, but he decided instead to put his head in the fresher sink and rinse the dust out of his hair. He was glad in this moment that his hair was short enough to be easy to rinse, quick to dry, and not require much styling to look presentable.

By the time he had to present himself in the dining room, he had managed to expunge all traces of his volcanic adventure and sober up enough to join the senator’s aide in a shot of pre-dinner utoz. Beer appeared with dinner, which was again much better than the food served at the Jedi Temple. He thought of Master Dooku and his sophisticated palate; the only thing missing was an appreciation of fine wines and beers, not to mention exquisite spirits. Perhaps Obi-Wan would be the first in his lineage to be the perfect urbane gentleman.

After dinner another round of utoz shots were served. “I’m terribly sorry about this afternoon. The brewery will be able to offer you a proper tour tomorrow.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Please don’t worry about today. I’m not offended at all. It’s nice to have some quiet time in between.”

The aide looked relieved. Force, was she afraid of him? Almost nobody had ever reacted to his presence with fear. Everyone knew he was friendly and kind; even his enemies were never intimidated by him, at least not before coming into contact with his lightsaber. Next to Qui-Gon he had looked particularly small, although he was actually on the lower end of average height for a human male, especially from Stewjon. Long, shaggy hair did not make him look like a pirate or outlaw, but instead like a cuddly, furry animal, while short hair made him look tidy and trustworthy, but not terrifying. Even his beard failed to make him look tougher, instead merely proclaiming the fact that he was older than his baby face suggested.

The aide excused herself without finishing her drink, so Obi-Wan discretely added the contents of her shot glass to his own. How wasteful! He had his own reports to prepare on his spying today, so he returned to his room. There might be more beer in the minibar, after all.

Sitting with his datapad, embedding the images he had taken of the Loag altar, he found he could not make sense of the mission. What was he searching for, anyway? Had he found it? How did one prove a negative? Was he struggling to understand because there was something suspicious after all, or because he had been drinking all day yesterday and today? He was functioning quite well for someone on a bender, someone who was certainly not Jedi material and was failing everyone who had the misfortune to get overly attached to this pathetic lifeform known as Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He would need to control himself at the brewery. It would not do to let others see him drink greedily and forget to show proper appreciation. Whatever the government of Merisee wanted to show him, he would express eager appreciation, until they decided to send him home. He wasn’t entirely sure what they expected him to accomplish anyway. It was a fact-finding mission in which he was not given much leeway to actually find any facts, even though it was Merisee that requested the mission, with him being treated more like a dignitary on a cursory tour of inspection.

Oh well, it didn’t matter. Obi-Wan was relieved to find new beers in the cooling unit. He opened one, taking a deep breath to savor the anticipation and aroma first, before downing it in one go. This was the good stuff. Dex should really stock it. Obi-Wan repeated the performance with the can of ale and felt much happier. Perhaps there was more utoz as well, if housekeeping had restocked while he was at dinner. The cabinet had been empty when he returned from the volcano earlier in the afternoon. Ah, yes. He placed the medium-sized bottle next to his bed and started getting ready to retire. Anakin should be asleep by now. _I hope whoever put him to bed sleeps on the couch and doesn’t find the bottles under my bed. Garen probably wouldn’t snoop around, but_ _Master Dooku might._

He woke up three times in the middle of the night with the same nightmare. “Expelled from the Order, you are. Failed you again have, Kenobi.” Master Yoda struck him hard with his gimmer stick. He seemed to loom larger than Obi-Wan. “Failed to find evidence you have, because drunk you were!”

When morning light came pouring into the room Obi-Wan reached for the utoz bottle and drank about a third of the contents before even attempting to get up. He hoped that Anakin hadn’t seen his nightmare through their bond. This was a plain nightmare and certainly not a Force vision. Perhaps he could taper off tonight so that he could hit the sweet spot of being tipsy enough for dreamless sleep without being too drunk for his mind and digestive system to settle.

Speaking of which, Obi-Wan needed to get to the fresher fast. He crawled on his hands and knees and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet, then took satisfaction in flushing away the evidence. There, that’s better. Now able to stand up and shower, he made it down to breakfast at the appointed time. Excellent, a greasy fry-up.

“I believe this is the last stop on your tour of our planet. I hope you enjoy the Utozz Prime Distillery.” The aide was all smiles, although her body language betrayed a hint of fear. Perhaps she was afraid of Jedi in general. It was probably best not to take it personally.

The distillery was certainly impressive, although it was visible from his hotel room window and thus already a familiar sight. Obi-Wan followed the aide into the large building with a durasteel corrugated roof. Past a small reception area, the distillery was full of machinery. Obi-Wan listened with polite interest as a staffer in a hard hat pointed out the washing and milling of the grain. The steaming and adding of yeast was not terribly interesting to him, but he had perfected his mask. A second round of adding yeast was a bit more exciting, although not much. Obi-Wan did smile when he saw the huge vats for distillation and the massive barrels in the maturation vault. Wouldn’t it be grand to have unlimited access with no other people around to witness him go from “Wow, he puts pirates to shame!” to “Oh dear, this man has a problem,” so that he could finally be happy?

Finally, the best part: the tasting room. Naturally he would only be given shots and not whole bottles to taste, but it seemed entirely possible that he would be presented with a bottle of something as a gift. He sipped each sample politely, pretending to appreciate subtle differences, but it didn’t really matter to him. The foreman who had given the tour beamed with pride. Sure enough, the senator’s aide presented Obi-Wan with two rather large bottles of utoz as a ceremonial gift at the end of the tour, then whisked him back to his hotel to leave. Once in his hotel room, Obi-Wan pocketed the small bottle from the minibar as well.


	11. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nute Gunray isn't the only one with incriminating secrets. Garen gets more than he bargained for, too.

Garen Muln rubbed his eyes and pushed his thick dark hair out of his face. No wonder Obi-Wan always looks tired. _I should remember not to take a padawan._ The boy was good-hearted and pleasant, but that was when he was awake. Last night Anakin came out of his bedroom, went into Obi-Wan’s room and panicked not to find him there, forgetting that his master was on a mission. The commotion had woken Garen up. That kid’s Force presence was so intense that when he panicked some of Qui-Gon’s potted plants fell over. It made Garen feel almost ill, but he had done his best to make his presence felt and comfort Anakin. Obi-Wan himself once had a fairly strong presence, but his Force signature was much dimmer these days. He must be exhausted after two years of dealing with Anakin’s night terrors.

Anakin was convinced that his master was in trouble because he couldn’t feel him on the other side of his training bond. Garen assured him that he was doing this deliberately to protect his apprentice during his possibly-dangerous mission, but he had to wonder. If something bad did happen to his friend, then probably Anakin would feel it. Garen pushed these thoughts out of his head and focused on the present, which meant getting Anakin ready for class.

* * *

Master Dooku sipped his morning tea and pondered what he had felt yesterday from his great-grandpadawan. The boy seemed a bit guarded whenever the topic of his master came up, like he was hiding an injury or a weakness. There must be something wrong with Obi-Wan that has become their little secret. He had asked where Obi-Wan’s mission was to, and when Anakin said it was Merisee, Master Dooku had reacted involuntarily. He had his own memories of that place. Anakin was uncharacteristically quiet after that, so much so that he reminded Master Dooku of Qui-Gon at that age. That boy had also been harboring his master’s secret. Master Dooku would never forgive himself for the damage he did to Qui-Gon, and understood that he had only himself to blame that his former padawan had wanted nothing more to do with him after his knighting, even though Master Dooku had changed. He could only hope that Obi-Wan wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

If either Anakin or Obi-Wan asked for help, Master Dooku would do anything. The same went for Asajj and her new apprentice, who had her formal braiding ceremony today. The little girl was relieved and overjoyed to be a padawan, although she pretended to be too tough to admit it. Asajj had already picked out the beads for the girl’s braid. Maybe if Obi-Wan returned early enough today, he could make it to Alema’s party tonight.

* * *

“Ah, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine! I wanted to thank you. You were right, the public in Merisee were satisfied with the arrival of the same Jedi knight who killed the Sith a few years ago. It didn’t really matter that we didn’t let him do much actual investigation. Just his presence alone had all the media praising my leadership. And I have you to thank. If I get reelected, let’s celebrate together.” Senator Hrod Milew was all smiles when he saw Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine in the Senate antechamber.

“Oh, don’t mention it. I’m glad it worked out for you. The police here in Coruscant had already settled the case as a simple attempted robbery and coincidental murder of the would-be thief, probably a bounty hunter taking out a petty thug with gambling debts, but I know how our home constituencies need some kind of action, no matter how absurd, to feel safe again.”

Amazing. Senator Milew apparently didn’t care at all about the truth of the case. There was no Loag assassin, only Darth Maul trying to get his hands on contraband pain medication—another export from Merisee. This fit in beautifully with his master’s needs, no more and no less. Sending Kenobi was strategic as well. No matter how drunk he was, that man’s dogged sense of duty could be counted upon. He would sneak off to the abandoned citadel and miss the real action: an unofficial free trade deal with the Trade Federation, which would then feed the secret clone army in production on Kamino. Kenobi would never catch on as long as he was kept at the brewery until it was time to ship him home. Even if he did see something, he would be too drunk to know what he was seeing anyway. Kenobi was such a quick study, already getting top marks in being a full-fledged high-functioning alcoholic.

* * *

Queen Amidala didn’t much like Neimoidians, especially one in particular. Nute Gunray was a particularly odious individual. The slimy viceroy of the Trade Federation clearly had something up his sleeve; it was odd that he was absent from the Senate during important talks about guaranteeing access to food in all systems by banning speculation on the harvests of staple crops.

She had also noticed that the senator from Merisee had requested a Jedi investigation into a robbery on Coruscant, except that the senator had requested that the Jedi knight be sent to Merisee. The teenage Queen of Naboo did know that Merisee was an agriworld in the Outer Rim. Perhaps Senator Hrod Milew had made this request because he couldn’t afford to be absent from the talks in the Senate. The whole thing was rather peculiar, but what really got her attention was on the second page of the document. Senator Milew had requested Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi specifically, citing his fight against the Sith warrior during the battle of Naboo. It made her heart skip a beat to see the name of the young man listed on the document, even though she thought she had long since gotten over her secret crush. So he was a knight now. Of course he was, she was there at his master’s funeral. He had seemed so worried, like he thought he would be dismissed or otherwise punished, so it was nice to see that he was on active duty as a knight. But what about the sweet little boy from Tatooine?

* * *

Obi-Wan felt something disgusting in the Force, like when he got sick stuck in his beard. There was definitely something funny about this whole mission. Senator Hrod Milew was probably too busy with something to come, even though he had specifically requested Obi-Wan; so far, however, there had been nothing that required Jedi presence at all. He had been photographed during each of the tours, probably for the local press, which seemed to be under the mistaken impression that he was a celebrity of some kind. He hoped he didn’t look too drunk in the pictures, but it was really the fault of the Senator’s team if he did, because they were the ones plying him with drink.

Well, they underestimated his tolerance, because he was able to sense the slimy presence of a Coruscant politician. He couldn’t sense who it was, because the person was not Force-sensitive, but he knew to be on the lookout. He heard an irritating voice talking in a thick accent just outside the brewery. He focused on the voice, and although he was not able to make out exactly what it was saying, an ugly face popped into his head. Nute Gunray.

Obi-Wan excused himself to the fresher, knowing it was closer to the voice. Besides, he really did need to use it after all the utoz he had tasted. He struggled to clear his mind of the hazy confusion brought by the utoz, but was rewarded with a few words and phrases: “Feed the clone army” and “cartel” and “Kamino” and “behind schedule” and “unofficial agreement.” These phrases were not quite enough to piece together what exactly was going on, but it sounded important and nefarious, whatever it was.

Obi-Wan wished that he had had the self-control to Force-metabolize the alcohol. It was too late now, since he was already “tipsy,” even by his own admission. Utoz was strong stuff, perhaps forty percent alcohol, and he had had quite a lot of it. It occurred to him that this might have been a deliberate policy, but even if it were, he couldn’t possibly include this in his report to the Council. He had been drinking on the job, and not Force-metabolizing. Perhaps his nightmare encounter with Master Yoda had been a prophetic dream after all.

He tugged on his training bond with Anakin, hoping that he wasn’t too intoxicated to connect. “Anakin. It looks like the Trade Federation is up to something funny. Nute Gunray is here. What’s going on in the Senate? Can you find out?”

It wasn’t clear at first whether Anakin had even gotten the message, but all doubts were removed a moment later when a reply came. “MASTER!”

“No need to shout, Anakin.” Loud voices in his head when he was tipsy gave Obi-Wan a headache.

“Nute Gunray? What’s that?”

“He’s the viceroy of the Trade Federation. I think my hosts are hiding him from me. He’s making some kind of shady deal.”

“I’m with Master Fisto right now. Should I tell him?”

“Yes, go ahead. Sorry to interrupt your lesson. I’m being sent home today.”

“OKAY MASTER! YIPEE!”

Obi-Wan still had a hand to his temple when he came out of the fresher and rejoined his hosts.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. The tour and the tasting were most satisfactory.” He smiled in his professional manner that he always used in these situations. Years of practice gave him the perfect balance between genuine-seeming warmth and diplomatic detachment that put politicians at ease.

Sure enough, in less than an hour he was back on his ship, with not just the two utoz bottles from his tour and the one from his hotel minibar, but three more large bottles from the Senator and various other potentates whom he wasn’t sure if he had met. It didn’t really matter, anyway.

Obi-Wan wrote up two versions of his mission report right away. He wanted to get it done before he inevitably began drinking his new utoz stash. The first one included images of the cave with the Loag assassin sites, and the second one, for Mace Windu’s eyes only, included the snippets he had overheard Nute Gunray saying. Naturally he couldn’t include all of the details about how and why he was spying on the Nemoidian in the fresher, but this was off-the-record. It was a fact-finding mission, was it not, and he had found something that might not count as facts but still felt important.

He reviewed his work, then submitted them from his ship. Now, the gleaming beauties were beckoning with their clear but potent liquid. Obi-Wan decided to start small, opening the medium-sized bottle from the hotel minibar first. If he got just drunk enough and fell into a nice dreamless sleep, he could manage the comedown with the spiked tea in his thermos, so that he was not too obviously impaired when he arrived at the Jedi Temple.

That was the plan. Things never go quite according to plan. Obi-Wan felt fine indeed after the midsize bottle. He felt light on his feet and carefree, especially now that he had sent in his reports. This was great. Maybe he wasn’t a huge failure and disappointment after all. He had never been good enough, not really, but the Council had taken pity on him and knighted him after he completely failed to save his master, only because he was too old as a padawan already and couldn’t hope to get a new master. Having not been trained for anything else, he would have struggled to find another career. Satine wouldn’t want him either if he had flunked out of the Jedi Order. Poor Anakin would also be cast out with no guardians or home. What a pair they would make as urchins!

Oh yes. Anakin. Obi-Wan smiled at the thought of the boy. His dear little one. His feelings for Anakin were probably excessively attached and therefore forbidden, but he was the closest thing to a father that boy had. If only Anakin were here now. He would hug that child close and never stop stroking his hair. Perhaps Anakin was preparing for bed now. He would enjoy a lullaby, like the one Satine taught him.

Obi-Wan opened one of the big bottles and took a big draught. There, that’s better. He forgot all about singing and lifted the bottle to his lips. The burning sensation of the fire water going down his throat as he guzzled the utoz like water made him feel alive. Maybe he would dance later, although it was harder without Satine. If he had some more utoz, maybe he could conjure her. Obi-Wan put the bottle to his lips again and drank from it thirstily.

There seemed to be a ringing in his ears. It wouldn’t go away even when he had drunk half of the large bottle. That was because the sound turned out to be his comm. Ah, an incoming message from Mace Windu. Obi-Wan punched the button to take the call. “Kenobi.” He thought, too late, that he should have said, “Macey old boy!” That would have been funny.

“I got your two reports, I understand why you split them. I want to talk about them with you in private when you land. I assume you’re on your way home?”

“Yes, I am—”

“Good, see you later. Windu out.”

“Kenobi out.”

 _Kriff_. He had let Master Windu cut him off before he could add his funny line, and ended with the usual boring words reflexively. _Kriff kriff kriff_. Hey, it was fun to swear to himself. He could say whatever he wanted because Anakin wasn’t there. The needy little brat always ruined his fun. He had come between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, taken up all of his master’s time and energy, thereby robbing him of his young knighthood—but Obi-Wan dare not complain about the wonderful honor that was training the Chosen One—and was now stealing Obi-Wan’s friends. He better not let Bant meet him; it was bad enough that Anakin had charmed Garen.

Oh, triple _kriff_. If he were to meet with Mace Windu right after landing, he would have to sober up. He could manage if he stopped drinking right now and didn’t sleep, because if he slept he would get a terrible hangover. But he still needed to drink some more to dance, and besides, the bottle was almost empty so he might as well finish it. Oh yeah. How was he going to smuggle his bottles off the ship?

Of course. He could put one bottle in each leg of his trousers, and the other two in his cloak pockets. The empties could go in his inner tunic, next to his skin. He could manage this. There was no need to hide the thermos that dangled off his belt. Nobody knew that there was brandy in there. He had to smile at his own cleverness.

With a long draught on the bottle, he finished it. Now, Satine darling, we dance. Obi-Wan hummed the music as he began to move through the figures of an old Mandalorian courtship dance. Satine taught it to him while they were on the run that year, then he had danced it with her in a cold, damp cave. Spending his entire sixteenth year like this, he had fallen in love with her. He thought he might not be a Jedi anymore; this was how he justified it to himself. Satine’s fingers in his short hair were more convincing than a young lifetime of Jedi teachings, as were her half-hearted protests that a respectable Mandalorian woman needed to be courted properly, through songs and dances that signified betrothal, before she would allow a kiss, and marriage vows in order to go further than that. He sang the correct songs in Mando’a, impressing her further with his voice, then he learned the dance. At that point, he had been rewarded with a kiss. After another sixty or ninety days of living together as two teenage fugitives, when it seemed likely that they would both die, they had said their vows in secret, with no witnesses. It was not a legally-binding marriage, but it was enough for them. Obi-Wan still remembered the softness of her bare flesh, the taste of her skin, the way they had been united as one that night. He couldn’t imagine getting that close to any other woman ever again. A part of him still thought of Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore, as his brave teenage bride, his secret wife.

 _Kriff!_ Obi-Wan crashed into the side of the passenger compartment of the ship and slid down to the floor in a heap. He must have wobbled on his feet. The ship had hit some turbulence, that was what. Ah, beautiful Satine would put his head on her lap again and stroke his short hair just as before. Obi-Wan smiled as he passed out into a dreamless sleep.

He was completely disoriented when he heard a loud beeping noise suggesting that his ship was about to come out of hyperspace. When he finally remembered where he was and that he had only a couple more hours before he had to face Master Windu, he groaned. The good news was that he didn’t have a hangover. The bad news was that he was still drunk, which was why he didn’t have a hangover. He would have to try to Force-metabolize the alcohol in his body. Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on the floor and tried to pull on the Force, but not much was happening. Oh no, did this mean he had lost the ability to Force-metabolize?

Even after several hours of trying, Obi-Wan was still far from sober when it was time to hide the bottles on his person and disembark. With any luck his loose-fitting cloak would camouflage any awkwardness. Sure enough, Master Windu was waiting for him in the spaceport. It was just as well, because it would be difficult to sit down with the bottles hidden in his trouser legs.

“Obi-Wan, I read your reports, as I said. Hey, what happened to you? You’ve got a bruise on the side of your head.”

Oh no. That must be from when he fell down in the ship, trying to dance. The trouble with very short hair was that he could not hide injuries to his head and face nearly as easily. Obi-Wan got a sinking feeling as he realized that the bottles hidden in his trouser legs made him walk stiffly as well.

“That cave. That place was so full of pain and terror that it made me feel ill, and I got dizzy and fell.” Obi-Wan was impressed by his own quick thinking, given that he was still drunk. Steering the conversation back to his mission was the only way to avoid scrutiny.

“But you said that cave and the Loag assassins were a red herring.”

“They were. That cave was so completely covered in dust that I suspect it truly hadn’t been used for a thousand years. It was the strangest fact-finding mission I’ve ever been on. They ask me to come, then parade me around the few paltry tourist sites they have, like a food-processing plant, leave me alone for a whole afternoon so that I can go sneak off to investigate the cave, then pack me off in my ship as soon as Nute Gunray arrives. What was going on in the Senate?”

“A session about the right to access food without speculators playing games with the prices. You’d think Trade Federation Viceroy Nute Gunray would want to be there for something like that.”

“I overheard him talking in the fresher, so of course I couldn’t put that in the official report, but it certainly sounded like that sleemo had a backhanded deal going on, it sounded like an exclusive contract to feed a clone army.”

“I agree he’s a sleemo.” Master Windu had a bemused smile on his face, which one would have to be familiar with to recognize. Obi-Wan realized, too late, that he had used language he normally wouldn’t use sober.

“Sorry about the language, I’ve picked up some Huttese words and phrases from Anakin.” This was true.

“Oh yes, of course. The idea of a clone army worries me. We should probably look into it. Kamino, you said?”

“I think that’s what he was saying. I have no idea who they would clone, though, or what they need an army for.”

Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief when he and Master Windu parted ways. The Korun master didn’t seem to notice any impairment on Obi-Wan’s part.

* * *

“Ah, Master. I was just talking with Obi-Wan. I think there’s something wrong with him.”

“This I too have felt. Cloudy his Force presence has become. Reminds me of my old padawan he does.” The little green master sat pensively over a cup of foul-tasting tea in his quarters.

“I did look into what he said. It’s true that Nute Gunray was absent from the Senate, but when I checked the Archives there was no such planet as Kamino. Either he misheard, or he was totally out of it. He seemed pretty spacey when I talked to him, like the after-effects of that cave hadn’t gone away yet. He was walking stiffly and had a bruise on his face, too. He said he got dizzy in the cave and fell.”

“Hmm. Rest, he needs. Young, his padawan still is.”

Master Yoda knew there was more going on than that, but he decided it was prudent to wait and watch. He had applied the same principle when bringing Obi-Wan into the Order about twenty-five years ago. It had been difficult to establish that his mother was rational enough to make an informed decision about it, and was not just pretending her baby was Force-sensitive to get him out of a chaotic home ruled by a grandfather and father prone to drunken rages. Obi-Wan was already almost three years old when the process was completed and he could be brought to the Temple.

* * *

“Hey, Gar!” Obi-Wan smiled when his friend opened the door to Obi-Wan’s apartment. They were still in the middle of their secret handshake when Anakin sensed his master’s presence and came running to the door, bounding straight into Obi-Wan’s arms, knocking the wind out of him.

“MASTER!”

“No need to shout, Anakin. I’m right here. Did I miss Alema’s party?”

Garen’s expression shifted ever so slightly, under his calm Jedi mask.

“Yeah, you did. It was wizard! Master Dooku brought a cake and we had tea. Alema looks so much happier. She kept hugging Master Ventress.”

Of course. It was an after-party for a child’s braiding ceremony. Naturally there would be tea and cake, and not whiskey. Alema hadn’t quite turned thirteen yet.

Garen put his smile back on. “Anakin was a good boy while you were away. He didn’t get into any mischief without me.”

“Want to see our starfighter?” Anakin was already dragging Obi-Wan into the apartment, Garen following behind. Obi-Wan was comforted by the familiar sight of Anakin’s messy room, with clothes, droid parts, and holobooks strewn over every surface. Only Anakin knew which clothes were clean.

There it was. The completely accurate model starfighter with a cockpit designed for a tiny droid pilot. How Anakin managed to turn random parts into toys was a mystery, but Obi-Wan felt he should encourage it, because tinkering worked for Anakin when meditation didn’t, and he didn’t seem to get too attached to his creations. If anything, it was sweet the way he donated some of them to the creche. The boy definitely had a good heart.

The two knights left Anakin to play with his project and wandered into the living room. After a few minutes of talking about Obi-Wan’s mission and Anakin’s studies, Garen looked first at the floor and then at the strangely-lined face of his friend. “You know, I worry about you.”

“Please, I’m fine. I’m happy with Anakin, and I get to go on interesting missions. I have friends. There’s nothing to worry about with me. I’ve quite adjusted to life without Qui-Gon, I can assure you. If you must worry, worry about Anakin. It’s not like you to worry, anyway.”

“I worry about him, too. He’s very protective of you. I told him some stories from when we were younglings and he wouldn’t tolerate me saying anything remotely unflattering about you. Simple hero worship common among very young padawans maybe, but I sensed something else. Then I got cold one night sleeping on the sofa and went into your room to borrow a blanket. I was half-asleep and rather clumsy so I knocked your pillow off the bed on the far side by accident. I went around to the other side and got on the floor to pick up the pillow. I was disappointed with what I saw under your bed.”

Obi-Wan stiffened. “I get presents from people but Anakin is still so young so I keep them hidden in my room.”

“I have one bottle of Corellian sherry in my apartment, but it’s in the kitchenette. I use a dash of it sometimes to cook.”

“You don’t have a young padawan like I do. You don’t have to keep adult things hidden. Anakin is a curious young boy.”

“Obi-Wan. Three of the seven bottles down there were empty. When I eventually finish my bottle of sherry, I’ll throw it away. This behavior worries me. Anakin—”

“Anakin is fine. I appreciate what you did for me in my absence but I didn’t ask you to snoop around in my home and betray me. You’re welcome to see Anakin, but if you start filling his mind with doubts about my suitability as his master, I will have to cut off contact with you. Get your own padawan, Knight Muln. Don’t steal mine. I’ll show you to the door now.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and hurt. His dear old friend from the creche had betrayed him and spied on him in his own home.


	12. Mandalore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, there is underwear in space, but no more awareness of reproductive healthcare than in canon. Korkie learns a lot, but not all of it is what his elders wished to teach him.

“Master, can we go to Dex’s for my lifeday, after we get back from this mission?”

Anakin put in the coordinates for Mandalore. This was his first trip there, and he was excited. After all, this was the planet where his master had spent the most time after Coruscant and Stewjon. Stewjon didn’t count because Obi-Wan didn’t remember it anyway.

“Yes, of course. Thirteen is a major milestone.” Obi-Wan sat in the copilot’s seat as usual. Flying was for droids, as far as he was concerned, so it was wonderful that Anakin enjoyed it so much. Obi-Wan took a swig from his thermos. Ah, that was better. Brandy-tea was the perfect antidote for a particularly bad hangover.

This was a routine mission, although the Mandalorian people didn’t trust Jedi in general. Obi-Wan was a special case. He had thrown in his lot with the Duchess for an entire year while still a very young padawan, and the Duchess still spoke so highly of him thirteen years later. There were rumors that he was in fact her husband, although any Mandalorian with sense knew that was impossible. He was a Jedi, after all, and Jedi didn’t marry. Besides, if he had married the Duchess aged just sixteen, he wouldn’t have stayed away for thirteen years going on other missions.

The Duchess wanted Obi-Wan’s advice on a political issue. She insisted that he come in person, which seemed strange, but this was one order Obi-Wan was happy to follow. Not that he didn’t usually follow orders—oh no. It was important to be a model Jedi and prove that he was not in the least bit impaired at any time. If the good Duchess wanted his presence, he would go without complaint. It didn’t matter what the political issue at hand was.

By the time they landed, Obi-Wan was on the border between buzzed and tipsy. It would take more than a third of a thermos full of his special tea that was three quarters brandy to push him over. The lovely Duchess herself came to meet them incognito, although Obi-Wan would know that gait, that presence, anywhere. He smiled at her. Really he would have wanted to kiss her, but Anakin was watching. Obi-Wan had never told him about the true nature of his feelings for Satine.

When it was Anakin’s turn to meet her, she ruffled his hair and smiled. “You’re about the same age as my nephew.”

“And you’re as beautiful as the Queen of Naboo.” Anakin’s cheeks flushed as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He had to be more careful about what he said. Obi-Wan was always reminding him about correct usage of language and pointing out what he could and couldn’t say. It was all right to tell Master Fisto that Obi-Wan was tired, but not that he had both a headache and a bellyache. That was “too much information,” according to his master. Anakin wondered if he had said too much to the Duchess, but she merely laughed good-naturedly and thanked him for his compliment.

Once the three of them were in the palace, she called to an aide to show them to their quarters while she went to get changed into her robes of state. Anakin gaped at the palace, the way he had at Theed Palace on Naboo four years ago. He could sense that his master was very fond of the Duchess, perhaps as fond of her as Anakin was fond of the Queen of Naboo.

Once in their room, Obi-Wan’s features broke out into a wide grin before remembering that Anakin was watching. He was not prepared to answer questions about his past here with Satine, or argue about attachments. Let Anakin think she was simply an old friend and that Obi-Wan was feeling nostalgic for a place where he had spent a lot of time in his youth.

They took their turns in the fresher getting cleaned up. As soon as Obi-Wan found out he was being sent to Mandalore, he had gotten his hair redone at Master Dooku’s barber, graciously enduring the scolding about having tried to maintain the style himself. Ah, looking good. He had also remembered to trim his beard before they left. Obi-Wan was satisfied that he still looked somewhat like the cropped-haired padawan with whom Satine had fallen in love. He took another swig from the flask hidden in his inner tunic to steel himself, then popped a mint to camouflage the smell of alcohol on his breath. There, now he was ready to face his secret childhood bride.

The aide came for them in short order and soon they were striding down the halls again, Obi-Wan projecting the dashing confidence of a knight and Anakin gawking at the paintings lining the walls. After several twists and turns, they were ushered into the throne room. Nothing could have prepared Anakin for the sight. The wooden floors and wall tapestries created a different kind of opulence from the marble in the throne room of Theed Palace, but no less impressive and entirely appropriate for a martial culture that prized functionality and tradition.

“Master Jedi Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker, your grace.” The aide announced the two Jedi and left. Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore sat in full regalia, the large navy-blue disks of her headdress making her head look much bigger than the rest of her. Her porcelain white skin, towhead blonde hair, and icy blue eyes were just as regal as the dark hair and eyes of the Queen of Naboo. On a smaller throne next to her sat a boy around Anakin’s age, with the same white skin and slim nose, although with eyes of a warmer blue and short side-parted ginger hair.

“This is my nephew, Korkie. He is learning about government. He’s twelve years old but so wise already.”

The Duchess smiled again. Anakin could not see his master’s face, since he was standing behind his master and a little to the right, in the traditional padawan position, but he could feel his blindingly bright smile through their bond. It occurred to Anakin that Obi-Wan must feel about the Duchess the way Anakin felt about Queen Amidala of Naboo. She was his beautiful angel.

“My apprentice and I look forward to hearing your confidences.”

“And I your counsel. I believe that there is something going on that is causing a grain shortage in the Outer Rim. At first the leaders of our system treated it as an economic opportunity, but the shortage has begun to affect us. Prices of grain from Merisee in particular have risen dramatically. The legislation regarding equal rights to access food covers only speculation and not actual shortages, so that merchants are free to raise their prices. My people are becoming restless.”

“I see. I was on Merisee two years ago, and encountered Nute Gunray there. The viceroy of the Trade Federation, of course. That was around the time that that legislation was passed.”

The Duchess’ eyes positively glowed, looking like the blue of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber blade. Obi-Wan continued. “I overheard him talking about cartels and unofficial agreements and feeding a clone army that was behind schedule.”

“And the Trade Federation is involved in siphoning off the grain from Merisee, is that your theory?”

“Yes. I don’t know what the clone army is for, if it exists.” Obi-Wan stroked his beard. Master Windu had not followed up on his intelligence from that mission, perhaps because of the way in which he had gathered the information, and nobody else had seemed interested. He was sent on fewer missions these days, too. That was just as well, given that he had a hangover more often than not. It was wonderful to be able to talk to Satine about serious topics. He had missed having her as a confidante.

“Perhaps to fight pirates. We leaders of agriworlds and systems with food-exporting planets have gotten tired of petitioning the Senate in vain for better protection from piracy. It would not surprise me if the Trade Federation is taking matters into their own hands.”

“I know that food stolen by pirates is then sold at grossly inflated prices in Hutt Space. Our food, stolen so that it can be sold to pathetic lifeforms on useless planets like Tatooine.” Korkie joined the conversation at this point. Obi-Wan felt Anakin bristle behind him. He was about to say something diplomatic about every planet deserving food when Anakin spoke up.

“I’m from Tatooine. Am I a pathetic lifeform to you?”

“Korkie, never insult whole planets cavalierly like that. Wars have been started for less.” The Duchess gave him a firm look identical to the one that Obi-Wan gave Anakin. In a way, Anakin realized, that ginger boy was her padawan.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you, of course.” Korkie turned to the Duchess and began to say something in Mando’a. Anakin didn’t understand the language but he had a feeling that this rich boy was saying something unflattering about him. He muttered a phrase in Huttese under his breath.

“Korkie! Didn’t I tell you it’s rude to speak in languages not shared by everyone in the conversation?”

“Aunt Satine—”

Obi-Wan interjected, “Listen to your aunt, young one” in Mando’a before turning to Anakin. “And you too. I heard that Huttese remark.”

Korkie was staring at Obi-Wan, dumbfounded. “You speak Mando’a?”

“Yes, young one. I lived on Mandalore for a whole year before you were born.” Anakin could feel Obi-Wan’s smile, the one that was equal parts mischievous and sagely, even if he couldn’t see it.

“See, Korkie, you never know who knows what. You can’t judge people that easily.” Satine continued her impromptu lesson in diplomacy.

“I’m sure the average inhabitants of Hutt Space aren’t especially fond of the pirates’ arrangement, either.” Obi-Wan tried to put the conversation back on track. “He’s right about the pirates.” He stroked his beard yet again.

Later, they retired to Satine’s private quarters. This was certainly not standard protocol, but she could easily justify it by reminding her aides that Obi-Wan was an important friend of Mandalore.

“Hey, Padawan Skywalker, want to see my droids? Sorry about just now.” Korkie bowed his ginger head in apology.

“Sure. I’m not angry anymore anyway. Oh, I’m Anakin.”

“That’s better.” Korkie smiled.

“For the record, Jabba the Hutt himself is a total sleemo. You can insult him as much as you want. I hate him, too.”

Korkie grinned as he led Anakin into his room. His space was mostly tidy except for one corner that had droid parts stacked high.

“This one’s broken.”

“I can fix any droid.” Anakin took a seat on the floor next to the droid pile and began to inspect his patient.

Left alone, Satine moved closer to Obi-Wan and cupped his face with her hand. It all came flooding back to her after all those years. The nights they had huddled together, trying to keep both warm and hidden. The time he dropped her despite his best efforts and she gained a scar to match his. The night she kissed him for the first time. “I understand why you grew this beard, but I’m not very fond of it.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“It hides too much of your handsome face.” She moved her hand into his hair, stroking the back of his head. “But I like your hair. You kept the best features of the short padawan cut without the silliness.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “You used to always make me sing to you.”

“I was just coming to that.”

Obi-Wan began to sing their song, the old Mando’a lullaby that she had first sung to him when he was hurt and she was scared. Maybe this time she would teach him a new song.

Obi-Wan pulled away when he felt Anakin’s Force presence approaching. “I’m glad my apprentice and your nephew are getting along. Anakin comes from a difficult background on Tatooine so that’s touchy with him, but he’s a good boy. I’m still working on teaching him manners.”

“Korkie ought to know better, given his background, but I’m afraid he has a hard time imagining a less-privileged life. I’m still working on that.”

At that point Anakin and Korkie came bounding into the room. “Aunt Satine! Anakin fixed my droid! It’s totally wizard! Come see!”

Obi-Wan smiled and shook his head at the spread of Anakin’s questionable use of Basic to the young Mandalorian. The adults followed the boys into Korkie’s room and admired Anakin’s handiwork until it was time to go to dinner.

At the dinner table their discussions about the Trade Federation continued, although in less formal language. “Anyone who steals food to resell when they’re already rich is a total sleemo.” Anakin declared. The two Mandalorians at the table did not need to know any Huttese to understand his meaning.

“I thought Senator Hrod Milew of Merisee was hiding something from me. That was such a strange mission. I was stuck on guided tours of food-processing plants and breweries instead of being allowed to find facts on a fact-finding mission. I sneaked off to a creepy cave that reminded me of the caves we were in, looking for evidence, but it turned out to be a red herring. I still think they didn’t want me to know Nute Gunray was there.”

“Sleemo.” Korkie tried out the word on his tongue and smirked.

“Yes, a sleemo. But why did they ask for me by name to go all the way out there if they didn’t want me to see him?”

“That is strange. You know, I wouldn’t do that to you. I asked for you specifically, too. You’re the only individual Jedi my people trust, and I wanted to see you again. I knew you would come if it were business. Would you like some wine?”

“Oh yes, thank you.”

Anakin stiffened slightly. He knew it was a mistake to offer his master a drink. This poor nice lady was going to be sorry. Worse, his master would embarrass himself in front of his beautiful angel, who may not invite him back. He sent a nudge to his master through their bond, knowing full well it was useless. Obi-Wan merely glared at him as Satine poured a glass for him and another one for herself. She handed him his wine and they both raised their glasses. He glanced at Anakin. _See, this is an elegant custom from a civilized age_.

Anakin turned his attention to Korkie and spent most of the rest of the evening talking about droids and the sleemos to be found in Hutt Space. He told him all about the Boonta Eve Classic and his friends Kitster and Greedo. Korkie’s eyes grew wide when he realized Anakin had been a slave. This wasn’t something Anakin liked to talk about, but seeing how Korkie also seemed to have no parents, Anakin decided to trust him.

Sure enough, Obi-Wan missed the signs that he was drinking more wine than was civilized, or perhaps he saw them but still couldn’t stop. Satine’s brow furrowed, but then she remembered that Obi-Wan was a grown man now, so it was little wonder that he drank now when he didn’t before. He was, after all, underage when she married him. Besides, his home planet was hard-drinking Stewjon. He didn’t seem very intoxicated at all. Perhaps he simply had a high natural tolerance.

After the adolescent boys had gone to bed, Obi-Wan took off his boots and pulled out the flat bottles he had hidden there. He opened one and began to drink from it. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was so kind to give him a pair of flat bottles of mead. He had long since finished the mead, but the flat bottles fit perfectly in his boots. Obi-Wan had found a supplier of utoz on Coruscant; he had really developed a taste for it. He had utoz in his left boot and rum in his right. He was fond of taking a sip from each and letting them mix inside his mouth.

He began to sing softly as he started to feel good. Anakin wouldn’t hear it from the next room, but even if he did he might think his master was just trying to forestall the nightmares he sometimes had in unfamiliar bedrooms. The night air of Mandalore agreed with Obi-Wan. He opened the full-length window and found that it opened on a garden. How lovely. He slipped out into the garden barefoot and bare-chested and sat cross-legged under a tree. The soft breezes brought the fragrance of flowers but he didn’t notice. He also didn’t notice that the main light source in the garden was a room with an open window, downwind from where he sat. Obi-Wan relaxed in the moment and resumed singing.

“Oh, Ben.” Satine came out of the room from which soft light was pouring and joined Obi-Wan in the garden. She sat down next to him and put one hand in his hair. He smiled and reached for her other hand, which sat in her lap. She rested her head on his shoulder for a while, then sat up and looked him up and down. There were a lot more scars than she remembered, but they didn’t detract from his beauty in her eyes. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you, darling?”

“Yes, I have. Losing Qui-Gon was the worst.” He could tell Satine because she knew his master and because Mandalorians believed in being passionate about their families; to her, Qui-Gon was his family, as would be Anakin.

Anakin. He was about the same age as Korkie, and it was obvious to Satine that he saw the boy as a son. Ben would probably come to love Korkie just as much. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Satine leaned into him again and kissed his jaw, then moved up to his ear to nibble. There was no padawan braid to tug or tiny nerftail to grab, but his cropped hair did not hinder her access as she covered the side of his face in kisses. She had missed her darling Ben, her secret husband, all those years.

“I missed you too.” His hands began to play with the buttons on the front of her nightgown. With his inhibitions disabled, he was much more proactive than he had been the first time.

In his room Anakin’s brain was being flooded by warm happiness from his master, which made Anakin smile in his sleep. He would wake up with no conscious memory of this, but would have a strong liking for Satine as someone who made his master happy. He had similar feelings toward many of his master’s friends, to a lesser degree; Supreme Chancellor Palpatine in particular had an incredibly sweet presence to him, sweeter than the cloyingly sweet Alderaanian cakes that his master didn’t want him to eat for fear of ruining his teeth.

Alcohol seemed to make Anakin’s master happy, too, until it didn’t. Anakin knew better than to comment. He understood that he wasn’t supposed to know. The tea Master Dooku made did not smell like that. Garen never seemed to be hiding anything in his clothes. Knight Ventress was always alert in the dojo. Anakin never doubted that his master loved him, but sometimes when he was indisposed he got a bit snippy. Anakin had learned to cook after his master started and put out a small kitchen fire. But Satine made him happy in ways that alcohol could not. Maybe having an attachment to a woman wasn’t such a bad thing.

Satine nestled in the grass under the tree, lying next to Ben. It was so good to have him home and feel his bare skin next to hers. Maybe he could be persuaded to stay. If he knew the truth about Korkie he might.

“Did we make the right choices, Ben?”

“I don’t know. I wonder that every day. I know I was born to be a Jedi, but when I remember that year with you, I’m not sure anymore. And you. What would have happened to your people if you had abandoned them?”

“Ben, I don’t know about any of that, but I do know that I love you more than anything. We could work something out. Stay here on Mandalore, let’s get our marriage officially recognized.”

“Satine. If you had asked me then, all those years ago, I would have left the Order for you. But you didn’t ask. Now I couldn’t. I’m responsible for Anakin. I can’t possibly abandon him. I couldn’t rob him of his future as a Jedi by bringing him here with me, either. Qui-Gon promised his mother he would be a Jedi, and when Qui-Gon died in my arms he made me promise to train him.”

This was why Satine had fallen in love with him in the first place. His strong sense of duty would make him an excellent father. But she couldn’t ask him to ruin Anakin’s life so that Korkie could know his father. If she told him about Korkie, that would put him in a terrible dilemma. No, it was better that he didn’t know.

In the morning Satine was about to enter the breakfast room when a man with short black curls burst in on her. “You’re a traitor and a whore, selling out your people to the Jedi. Taste my blaster!”

Satine stared down the man with his blaster aimed at her. “If keeping Mandalore at peace is treachery, then I’m proud to be guilty of that. I’m not in politics for myself, nor for my clan. I have spent years fighting without weapons. I believe in something greater than the primal urge to war or need of a mercenary for his next assignment. Go home and rethink your life, Jango Fett, before the palace guards rob you of your chance to choose.”

At that moment Obi-Wan entered the room. This was the tough pacifist Satine who had captured his heart all those years ago. Jango Fett fired his blaster, but Obi-Wan deflected the shot with his lightsaber so that it hit Jango Fett in the arm. The palace guards heard the shot and arrested Jango Fett. The captain of the guard saluted Obi-Wan, for he had protected the Duchess yet again.


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bant is no fool, even if Obi-Wan loses planets.

When they returned to Coruscant, Obi-Wan planned a lifeday party for Anakin, as promised. The boy wanted to invite Padawan Alema Han and her master Asajj Ventress, Garen Muln, and Master Dooku. Master Fisto was away on a mission. To nobody’s surprise Master Dooku declined the invitation but sent a gift. It was such a peculiar collection of guests for a child’s lifeday party, but it was what Anakin himself wanted.

The morning of the party, Anakin made a fry-up breakfast for his master and rushed off to class as usual, leaving Obi-Wan in bed with his customary hangover. When Obi-Wan did finally get up—with the help of quite a substantial pick-me-up drink—he ran into Bant on his way to the Archives. He had decided to look up Kamino himself, since Master Windu clearly didn’t take it seriously.

“Hello there, Bant! It’s been a long time.” She had been his oldest and closest friend, and yet he had managed to avoid her.

“Obi. Are you all right, Obi? You look a bit bloated and under the weather.”

How dare she suggest that he had had too much to drink yesterday. “I’m quite all right. We just got back from a mission.” He gave his excuse a little too aggressively. If she knew what was good for her she would assume that he was merely tired. Instead, she frowned and said the one thing she shouldn’t.

“I’m assigned to the Halls of Healing temporarily now. I think I know a human in bad condition when I see one. I’d really like to have a look at you.”

“Bant, I thought you were my friend. You want to poke and prod me without my clothes on? Of all the dirty, rotten, disgusting tricks! Never!”

“It’s not like that at all.”

“What is it like, then? You just said you wanted to get me naked.”

“You’re twisting things all around. I know you hate the Halls of Healing, but I worry about you. I’ve known you all of our lives, I know what you’re supposed to look like. I care about you and want to make sure you’re medically OK.” Bant took a step closer to Obi-Wan.

She was almost close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath and oozing from every pore of his body. Obi-Wan raised his arms in a defensive gesture. “Get away from me, do you hear?”

Bant frowned and tears formed in her huge, expressive eyes. “Then you are lost.” She turned away and Obi-Wan continued on his way to the Archives.

It was truly incredible how negligent the Council was on following up on his leads. It was like they thought he was just making up crazy conspiracy theories. A chill ran down his spine. They knew about his drinking, or that he wasn’t a virgin, not even celibate, and had decided long ago not to take him seriously. But surely he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t a virgin. Besides, he lost his virginity a long time ago, long before the Council started treating him like a crazy conspiracy theorist. He was certain there were exceptions to the celibacy rule, although they were unlikely to apply to him.

* * *

Walking in the opposite direction, Bant had a webbed hand on her large bulbous forehead, deep in thought, when she collided with Garen.

“Sorry, Gar. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“I’m all right. Are you OK? What has you so worried?”

“Obi. He was really strange when I ran into him just now. I said he looked bloated and offered to give him a medical checkup, and he accused me of sexual harassment, like I just wanted to see him naked. It wasn’t like him at all.”

Garen sighed and looked down at his feet. “I’m really worried about him. He keeps getting worse. He’ll barely talk to me now, convinced I’m trying to steal Anakin from him. That kid has changed in ways that worry me, too.”

“Garen, what’s wrong with Obi?”

“Let’s go somewhere private and I’ll tell you.” Garen ushered Bant into his apartment and closed the door. “I’m pretty sure Obi is an alcoholic. When I stayed with Anakin overnight while Obi was away on a mission, I found a lot of big bottles of hard alcohol hidden under his bed, some of them empty. I confronted him about it after he came home and he got belligerent. He used to take Anakin to class in the morning and make dinner at home in the evening, but Anakin seems to be on his own now. I’ve seen Obi spar with Anakin. His lightsaber skills are worse than his padawan’s now. At least he lets Master Dooku work with the boy too. I’ve never met Master Dooku so I don’t know what he looks like. I wouldn’t know him if I saw him. I really wish I could bring it up with him. Anakin is guarded, too. I’m invited to Anakin’s lifeday party today because Anakin chose the guest list, but I dread it because it’s at Dex’s and you know Obi will be guzzling Jawa Juice, claiming it’s OK because Anakin is operating the speeder. Asajj Ventress and her padawan will be there, too. I don’t think she knows.”

Bant let her tears fall. “Our Obi, an alcoholic. I don’t really want to believe it, but he did smell funny. That boy can’t be left in his care, then. How is Obi going to protect anyone, including himself, on missions if he’s always drunk? He’ll be expelled from the Order. Poor Obi! We’ve got to help him somehow. Maybe tell Reeft and Quinlan. Take Obi’s bottles away, lock him in a medbay to detox.”

Garen sighed. “I’m not sure any of that is going to help. He’ll just find ways to drink in secret. Quin is also a heavy drinker. Obi’ll just point to Quin and claim his drinking is normal. Never mind that it doesn’t seem to rule Quin’s life, and he doesn’t drink as much as he claims. I’ll just have to observe him today at the party and check in with Asajj afterwards to see if she notices, too. I know she has her own padawan, but if he trusts her she might be able to keep an eye on Anakin to make sure Obi doesn’t put him in danger.”

* * *

Obi-Wan reached the Archives and began researching the planet Kamino. Having recently talked about it with Satine it was fresh in his mind. He would prove to the Council, especially one Mace Windu, that he wasn’t full of chssk. He began searching every sector, every system, for a planet called Kamino or something similar. It wouldn’t show up in the computer system.

Madam Jocasta Nu said that if it wasn’t in the Archives, then it didn’t exist. Or perhaps he had gotten confused and the planet he was looking for was in fact Kuat? No, it couldn’t have been Kuat. He’d been there, he knew that planet produced wonderful spirits and liquors. He had had some just last night. How strange that there was no sign of any planet called Kamino. But there had to be. He had to prove that it wasn’t all some drunken hallucination.

What to do when one was thoroughly perplexed? Ask Master Yoda, of course! Obi-Wan strode through the building to where he knew Master Yoda’s younglings’ class was held. He had graduated from that class himself. Sure enough, a dozen or so younglings were wearing helmets and practicing sensing training droids. Obi-Wan knew from his own childhood that Master Yoda did not mind visitors, because he turned any interruption into a lesson. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Master.”

“What help can I be to you, Obi-Wan?”

“I’m looking for a planet described to me by someone who would know, but the systems don’t show it on the Archive maps.”

Master Yoda closed his eyes for a moment before speaking, addressing the younglings rather than Obi-Wan. “Lost a planet, Master Obi-Wan has. How embarrassing. How embarrassing.” The younglings began to giggle and Obi-Wan felt his face getting hot. Now even the younglings were laughing at him openly. That was because Master Yoda saw him as a drunken fool, no doubt.

“Liam, the shades. Gather around the map reader. Find Obi-Wan’s wayward planet, we will.”

Obi-Wan placed the small globe-shaped map on the reader sprouting from the floor and pointed out where he thought Kamino might be. He knew he had heard of it before, and thought he even knew which system it was in, but the Archives had turned up nothing. It was true that astronavigation and geography were never his favorite subjects as a padawan—a fact he never wanted Anakin to know, since Anakin also struggled with these subjects—but it was hard to imagine that he had simply made up a false memory of learning about Kamino. There was a spot in the map that looked very odd, with stars and moons clearly pulled towards a center with its own gravity, but there was nothing there in the center.

“Gravity’s silhouette still remains, but the star and all the planets, disappeared they have. How can this be?” Master Yoda asked the younglings. He twitched his ears as he asked for theories, as if this was a planned part of the lesson all along.

Finally a little boy spoke up. “Master? Because someone erased it from the Archive memories.”

Master Yoda chuckled. “Truly wonderful, the mind of a child is. The padawan is right.” At least he wasn’t laughing directly at Obi-Wan or turning the lesson into a lecture about hallucinations caused by addictive substances. “Go to the center of gravity’s pull and find your planet, you will.”

Obi-Wan pulled the map to him with the Force and let the shades back up. The idea of someone tampering with the Archives was alarming, but it was still better than being accused of being a crazy drunk in front of younglings. Perhaps Master Yoda was being polite, although Obi-Wan wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because Obi-Wan was part of Master Yoda’s lineage. Whatever it was, he was grateful, even if Master Yoda didn’t really mean to grant him permission to search for Kamino and was simply trying to maximize the didactic potential of the interruption.

Obi-Wan felt a little better about things as he strode out of the classroom, although his headache was starting to get worse. He thought vaguely of rushing off to Kamino right now, quite forgetting about Anakin’s party, when he saw something that brought him back into the present. Was that? No, it couldn’t be. Siri left the Order several years ago. That woman couldn’t be her. Besides, her hair was all wrong. Siri was a blonde. Obi-Wan realized that he had always preferred smart, tough blondes. That woman’s Force signature was unmistakably that of Siri, however. She turned and noticed him.

“Obi?”

He nodded as he moved closer to her. “Why are you here? You’re a pirate now, aren’t you? Or am I just hallucinating you again?” When Anakin drowned, he had seen her, but eventually dismissed that as a hallucination brought on by worry.

“I was deep undercover, Obi. That’s why I had to look like I was leaving. Why I still look like someone else.”

Now at close range, she could see that he had changed, too. His eyes looked greener than before, but the lines around them were there even when he wasn’t smiling. That was new. He also had a short, well-trimmed beard, but the biggest change was the bloated yet gaunt look of his face and reddish nose. There was nothing untidy about his clothes and his neatly-cropped hair was obviously professionally barbered, but there was something about him that looked haggard. He smelled different, too, like he had tried to scrub away with strong-smelling soap something malodorous that leached out of his every pore. Siri could feel that his Force signature had clouded over. If she hadn’t known him to be a Jedi, she would have pegged him as a petty drunken former bounty hunter. “You look tired. Did you just get back from a mission?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did.” He was grateful that she had offered a reasonable excuse to look tired, unlike Bant. Never mind that the mission had been to pleasant Mandalore, where he spent a night in the arms of his beloved. No, he couldn’t tell Siri about that.

“We? Who was your mission partner?”

“My padawan. You met him, Anakin Skywalker.”

“Oh yes. So the Council did let you take him on.” Siri had been away for four long years and missed all of Anakin’s apprenticeship. “I wasn’t in contact with anyone from the Temple for long stretches of time, except Quin, and he never talked about you. I think he was afraid I would turn weak-willed if I thought about you too much. He knew about us, after all.”

“That was a long time ago. I haven’t seen much of Quin lately; what’s he doing?”

“Quin’s doing whatever Quin does. He doesn’t report to me, so I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s shady, but not so shady that it requires him to go undercover and pose as a criminal for years at a time.”

“Do you think he would be interested in looking for lost planets and mysterious clone armies commissioned by Nute Gunray and the Trade Federation? Or in coming to my padawan’s lifeday party today?”

“All three sound like things Quin would enjoy.”

“How about you, do you enjoy younglings’ lifeday parties at Dex’s? Anakin is turning thirteen.”

“You’re taking him to Dex’s?”

“Sure, I am. He loves it there. Vaguely disreputable but full of heart, the way he likes it. Garen, Asajj, and her padawan are coming, too.”

“Do you think they would mind? I’m not exactly a model Jedi anymore.”

Obi-Wan smiled and Siri was immediately reminded of the sheer charm of his dimples. “Garen will forgive you, and you didn’t know the others, so it should be fine. Dex’s Diner, an hour after the junior padawans’ last class.”

“I’ll be there. Thank you for inviting me.”

Obi-Wan had to admit to himself that he still liked Siri very much, even after the things she was supposed to have said and done that got her “expelled,” although he no longer had strong romantic feelings towards her. If there were no such thing as the Jedi Order, he would still have chosen Satine to be his wife, rather than Siri. On the other hand, Siri would need friends, now that she was back.

It must be lunchtime. The Jedi in the Temple seemed to be drifting towards the refectory. Obi-Wan was not very hungry, having eaten a late fry-up breakfast, but knew he would want to have something in his system when they went to Dex’s. Maybe something light.

There, in front of him in line, was Master Dooku, chatting with Master Windu of all people. Perhaps it wasn’t that strange when one remembered that Master Windu had been close to Qui-Gon when they were younglings, but it was still an odd pairing, since Master Dooku seemed to have more of a darker energy to him. He was smiling, too, which made him seem younger and less forbidding. They noticed Obi-Wan and immediately stopped laughing quite as cheerfully. What were they hiding? Were they laughing at him? Or perhaps Master Dooku enjoyed regaling the Korun master with tales about snubbing a child’s lifeday party.

Obi-Wan was still in a troubled mood after lunch, when he returned to his room for a hearty draught from one of his hidden bottles. This one he kept in the water tank of the toilet in the fresher. It saved water, too. Immediately his headache began to melt away. He caught a glimpse of himself in the fresher mirror. He didn’t look as bad as all that, did he? After all, he wasn’t a young padawan anymore. He was twenty-nine, with the scars and life experience that brought, but still made an effort in his grooming so he couldn’t possibly look that bad. What did they expect? He was several years younger now than Qui-Gon was when he first became Obi-Wan’s master. If people thought he looked old and tired, they should try taking padawans.

Speaking of which, Obi-Wan thought he might get some practice in at the dojo before it was time to meet Anakin. It had been a while since he trained by himself. He was usually not feeling up to it, but today he had some frustrations to take out on the training droids.

Kriff, kriff, kriff! This was making his frustration worse. Five years ago, he could have hit all of the training droids easily in his sleep. Qui-Gon had drilled him relentlessly for years, but before that he had worked hard under Master Drallig as well. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the Force, but found the connection hazy. Since when has he been this weak in not just lightsaber skills, but meditation? He mustn’t let anyone know or they would take away Anakin for sure. Anakin was still a junior padawan, even if he was the Chosen One, so that he couldn’t really rely on the boy during a mission if one turned dangerous; besides, Anakin couldn’t be expected to know what his master had failed to teach him. Obi-Wan could only hope that nobody was watching his sorry performance. He used to have a reputation as a talented swordsman, after all. It would be too embarrassing if padawans saw him now, the pathetic lifeform.

Obi-Wan did not see Master Dooku come into the dojo, spot him in one of the training salles, observe him for a while, shake his head, and leave. Master Dooku would always be there ready to help his grandpadawan, but the man had to ask. He could only hope that Obi-Wan reached that point before it was too late.

* * *

“Here comes the lifeday boy! How does it feel to be a teenager now?” Leave it to Garen to ask silly questions in an attempt to lighten the mood. Alema was rolling her eyes in perfect unison with her master as if they had rehearsed it. Her master’s eerily pale, tattooed face normally looked vaguely derisive under all circumstances, but there was a hint of something else, perhaps breathless exhilaration, dancing in Asajj Ventress’ eyes when Obi-Wan came into view. Siri noticed.

“The same as I felt yesterday.” Anakin replied. Obi-Wan smiled, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I want you to meet Siri. I know you’ve met before, but she’s been away for almost the whole time you’ve been at the Temple, so I want to introduce you again properly.” Obi-Wan nodded at Siri. Garen had accepted her back almost immediately when she had said the words “deep undercover mission.” She hadn’t known Asajj Ventress before anyway, and of course Alema was only fifteen.

Garen and Siri were sitting together on one the benches of the booth, while Asajj and Alema sat across from them. Obi-Wan sat down next to Siri and motioned for Anakin to sit with Alema. Dex already knew it was a lifeday celebration, so Flo soon began bringing them their feast, mostly things Anakin liked. She also began taking orders for drinks, except from Obi-Wan, who received a cup of Jawa Juice immediately. Garen noticed. Obi-Wan had chosen to sit next to his friends instead of across from them, thinking it would be a little harder for them to observe him that way. Being on the end made it easier for Flo to refill his cup unobtrusively as well.

“Hey, Alema, I like the design of your saber hilt.” Anakin noticed the lightsaber clipped to the young Twi’lek’s belt. It was silver and complicated, not sleek and simple like his master’s. It reminded Anakin of the droid parts he loved so well. “What color is the blade?”

“It’s green. I got it from the Crystal Cave at Ilum. Have you gotten yours yet?”

Anakin looked down. “No, not yet. Maybe soon, now that I’m thirteen. I’ve been a padawan since I was nine but my master thought I needed to learn control first. He’ll tell me when I’m ready to build my own lightsaber.” Anakin was talking to Alema but looking directly at Obi-Wan. This was sneaky and manipulative, but Obi-Wan knew the boy had a point. He was more than ready for the Gathering. It was Obi-Wan who wasn’t ready for his padawan to build a lightsaber.

“Where did you go on your most recent mission, Anakin?” Asajj changed the subject. Obi-Wan realized, as he received a refill from Flo, that this topic was just as fraught. Anakin hesitated for a moment before talking.

“Mandalore. The Duchess wanted my master’s advice. I liked Mandalore. It’s a beautiful planet, like Naboo.”

Garen and Siri both glanced at Obi-Wan. Mandalore was not currently a hardship destination. On the other hand, they were both well aware of his personal history connected to that place.

“I know you speak Mando’a. I hope you weren’t too rusty.” Garen steered the conversation in a flattering direction, so Obi-Wan smiled.

“Oh yes. The Duchess’ young nephew, the same age or so as Anakin, started speaking Mando’a thinking we wouldn’t understand.”

“His expression when my master joined in the conversation in Mando’a was priceless.” Anakin smiled proudly. He was well aware of the pitying looks he and his master sometimes got, especially in the dojo, or in the refectory when they were rather late for a meal and all that was left was Master Yoda’s stew, so opportunities to brag about his master were priceless.

“Anakin speaks Huttese. He’s a native speaker, with a truly impressive knowledge of bad words, so if you ever need to infiltrate Hutt Space, Siri, he can help.” Obi-Wan returned the favor.

Alema frowned. “You’re proud of his dirty vocabulary?”

Siri smirked at the question. This girl was a lot like the young padawan Siri had been, when she was still a straight-laced overachiever, but with a tough edge. Asajj was smiling at Anakin in camaraderie as well. Given her background, she would not be shocked by Huttese curses.

“Yes. As a Jedi you never know what you’ll need in the field.” Obi-Wan enjoyed the didactic moment in which he was the slightly larger-than-life, rather distant Jedi Master, and not the one directly responsible for Padawan Han’s instruction and upbringing. Asajj had proven surprisingly maternal in her role.

“Speaking of the field, when I ran into you earlier today, you talked about a project for Quin. Lost planets, mysterious clone armies that were behind schedule.” Siri volunteered, then realized, too late, that perhaps Obi-Wan would not want to discuss this at a child’s lifeday party. Flo came by again to refill Obi-Wan’s cup for the third time in half an hour. She seemed to know his rhythm.

“Have any of you heard of a planet called Kamino?” Obi-Wan decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask. He wanted to know that he wasn’t hallucinating, anyway.

“Yes. That place is way out there, far away from everything.” Asajj shuddered. She had clearly been there. “It’s usually rainy and stormy, too.”

“You’ve been there, you know it exists. It’s been erased from the Archives.” Obi-Wan kept his cup by his mouth even as he spoke, clutching it tightly.

Alema’s eyes widened. “Erased from the Archives? But, that’s impossible!”

“You sound like Madam Nu. She told me if something isn’t in the Archives, it doesn’t exist. Made me feel I was imagining things.”

Garen looked down at his nerfburger. He wondered how often Obi-Wan had actual hallucinations that people jumped to this conclusion first. It was common enough for Jedi with precognition, especially those strong in the Unifying Force as Obi-Wan was, to have sudden visions, but a drunken hallucination was a different beast.

The cake sent by Master Dooku arrived at just the right moment, and of course it was beautiful and elegant. Anakin had hoped for a picture of a speeder or lightsaber on it and was disappointed at first to see it was a standard-looking chocolate cake until he looked closer and saw that the speeder was etched into the chocolate.

Overall, the party was a success. Obi-Wan seemed to get livelier and more like his old self the more cups of Jawa Juice he drank, which in itself was not a good sign. Garen kept count on the refills as well. Jawa Juice was quite strong, perhaps around twenty-five percent alcohol, so Obi-Wan’s apparent lucidity after ten refills in three hours was a clear sign of high tolerance. At least he didn’t seem to be putting Anakin in danger. Of course, that was partly because Anakin was the one flying, in blatant violation of Coruscant's traffic laws.

Garen caught Siri’s eye as Obi-Wan downed yet another cup. This was certainly not the Obi she remembered. A quick glance at Asajj showed a mixture of admiration and concern. Drinking norms for Zabrak women from Dathomir may be different than for human males from Stewjon, but she clearly had not missed the exceptional nature of Obi-Wan’s casual consumption of a truly alarming volume.

* * *

Later, Garen and Siri knocked on Bant’s door. She was not on night shift tonight, thank the Force. “Bant. We went to Anakin’s party today, and I promised I would observe, so I thought I should share.”

“Sure, come in.” Bant eyed Siri suspiciously but did not say anything.

“I was on a mission deep undercover for four years.” Siri had gotten used to getting explanations out of the way quickly.

Bant’s expression softened and she offered her old friends a seat in her living room. The humidifier was on at full blast, keeping Bant’s skin moist. That must be the explanation for the extra moisture in her eyes.

“He was aggressively normal, and got more and more like the old Obi we know the more he drank. It’s the weirdest thing. I counted twelve cups of Jawa Juice by the end, and he was still lucid and fairly steady on his feet. Anakin seemed completely used to it, which also bothers me. His mission that he claims exhausted him was to Mandalore, simply talking to the Duchess. Not strenuous or dangerous, thank the Force, but not exhausting, either.”

Bant took all of this in. “And you said you would check in with Asajj Ventress. What does she think?”

“She’s concerned, all right.” Siri answered that question. None of them knew Asajj Ventress well, but they knew how to read her expressions. Siri refrained from adding that Asajj seemed to have a crush on Obi-Wan as well.


	14. Ilum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ilum is a trial for both master and padawan in many different ways. Apparently gorgodons find Jedi tasty, too.

“Anakin, I know you’re more than ready. Let’s go to Ilum. I think I missed the deadline for going with a group so it’ll just be us. Ilum is freezing cold so you’ll need to be sure your cloak is ready.”

“Wizard!”

Anakin showed his delight to his master, but carefully hid his concern. If something happened, neither were equipped to fight. They needed a shadow. He thought of Siri. She was good at that sort of thing, and it was clear even to Anakin that she had had a crush on his master at some point. Garen had been willing to spill details of that, although it had turned out that there were no exciting indiscretions.

* * *

Anakin went to the dojo after class, expecting his master to be there, but there was no sign of Obi-Wan. Instead, he spotted Siri sparring with Knight Ventress, with Alema watching. He invited her to a match. He noticed that Alema’s style was mostly Niman, perhaps because of her exposure to Master Dooku’s Makashi and Knight Ventress’ Jar’Kai. Anakin’s style was a crazy quilt of his master’s Soresu, Master Dooku’s Makashi, and moves he had learned from other masters, mostly Master Fisto but also Master Koon and whoever else he could find to work with him when his master was indisposed. Anakin told these other masters that Obi-Wan wanted him to gain a foundation or at least an understanding of all of the styles and to not get too used to one partner, not that Obi-Wan was often not in good enough physical condition to spar with him.

Alema was a formidable opponent. She was much less insecure and angry these days, making her a calmer, more perceptive fighter. She was also two years older than Anakin, who still only had experience with training sabers. Her skill had increased dramatically as soon as she had her own lightsaber whose hilt fit her hand and whose crystal responded to her. Alema won the first round, which was not a surprise, although Anakin felt a little resentful of his master for not teaching him better and for not taking him to Ilum yet. He was the Chosen One, he could surely do better than this if given better instruction. He wasn’t sure that his master’s Soresu would be the best choice for him, anyway.

By the time he finished his match with Alema, Siri and Asajj had finished as well. “I’ve been watching you, Anakin. If you want to improve your Makashi, I can help. You need to spread your feet out a little more when you stand, for stability. Here, let me show you.” Knight Ventress joined him in the salle and began to instruct both padawans. Anakin was always a quick study.

After their session, Knight Ventress and Alema left first, leaving Anakin alone with Siri. She joined him in the salle for a match. “Asajj can help with Makashi, but I can teach you Ataru. Your master used to use it, too, because Qui-Gon did, but I think Soresu suits him better.”

Anakin and Siri sparred for three rounds, with Siri giving him pointers during their short breaks. There was still no sign of Obi-Wan. “Master, my master said he would take me to Ilum for my Gathering, but could you join us?” Anakin didn’t have to say why he wanted a second adult, or why he was alone in the dojo today. “You could be our shadow, you know, just in case. We leave the day after tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, Anakin. I leave on a mission tonight. Maybe you could ask Master Dooku instead.”

After Siri left to prepare for her mission, Anakin worked by himself with the training droids until his master finally showed up. “I got your Gathering approved. That took longer than I expected. Sorry to keep you waiting. Did you spar with anyone?”

“Just with Alema, her master, and Siri. We practiced Makashi and then Siri worked with me for a long time in Ataru.” Anakin let his master’s excuse for his lateness go, even though he only half-believed it.

Obi-Wan smiled. “Then it’s time for Soresu.” He felt good today and ready for action. Anakin was glad to finally have a chance at a decent session with his own master. When Obi-Wan was sober or nearly so, glimmers of the expert swordsman he once had been shone through. Anakin smiled when he realized that this was one of those times. This was the Obi-Wan who had first taken him on. If he could keep this up, maybe they wouldn’t need an extra adult chaperone.

That night Obi-Wan surprised Anakin by making dinner the way he used to do. Now that Anakin was older and had a little experience with cooking himself, he was more willing to eat his vegetables. Even so, he had to smile when Obi-Wan made his familiar vegetable stew.

Obi-Wan had managed to get through the day fairly close to sober, although he had had a late start. Now that Anakin was in bed, it was time for a little reward. He reached down under the bed and pulled out a bottle of utoz. He would do his best not to drink the whole bottle, although it wasn’t much fun to drink when one had to be vigilant. There were still two thirds of the clear alcohol in the bottle; he would try to limit himself to another third. Do or do not, there is no try, he reminded himself with a snicker. Nobody had ever seen Master Yoda drunk. Maybe he talked normally. It would be funny if Master Windu knew.

“Kenobi! We meet at last. I will kill your precious Duchess in front of your very eyes!” a red lightsaber illuminated the familiar red and black face, from which yellow eyes shone. Obi-Wan was holding Qui-Gon’s body while Anakin was trying to guard Satine. Obi-Wan watched helplessly as Darth Maul impaled one and then the other before turning to face Obi-Wan. Lava spewed from the shaft and Darth Maul laughed, coming closer and closer. “Pathetic lifeform!” he hissed as he cut Obi-Wan down.

Obi-Wan knew it was only a dream, but it was still unpleasant. He got up, fished out the utoz bottle, and drank some more, careful to leave a little bit in case he had a hangover in the morning.

Obi-Wan woke up sweaty but otherwise all right. His sweat had a peculiarly bad smell, like rotten meat soaked in vinegar, so he took a shower before coming out into the living room. He had started to make breakfast when Anakin came out and threw his arms around his waist. “Good morning, Master.”

Obi-Wan dropped Anakin off to class and was walking down the hall when he ran into Bant returning from the night shift in the Halls of Healing. He was in a fairly good mood so he smiled and waved at her. She eyed him suspiciously before cautiously returning the smile. This kind of treatment made him sad.

He eventually found himself in the Temple gardens, under Qui-Gon’s tree. He had not meditated properly for a long time. Perhaps there was some meaning to his recurring nightmares about Darth Maul. The Sith warrior was supposed to be dead, and yet he kept haunting Obi-Wan’s dreams. Obi-Wan couldn’t tell anyone about the dream he had last night because his attachments were obvious in it: Qui-Gon, perhaps, he could get away with, maybe Anakin as well, but Satine was out of the question. The only person who knew about Satine other than Qui-Gon was Anakin, and Obi-Wan wanted to keep it that way.

He was deep in thought but not quite meditating when he became aware of another presence peering into his face. The man had a horizontal yellow tattoo across his cheeks and nose and long black dreads pulled back into a nerftail.

“I didn’t know you were back, Quin. You missed Anakin’s lifeday party twenty days ago.”

“I wasn’t back yet then. Your Force presence is pretty cloudy so it’s a good thing you’re trying to meditate. What’s bothering you?”

“Kamino. I have reason to believe the Trade Federation is up to something there, but there’s no record of the planet existing, even though Asajj seems to have been there. The Council won’t take me seriously when I say there’s a clone army there and that this is the reason for the food shortages in the Outer Rim. This is up your alley.”

Quinlan Vos smiled. This was exactly the sort of thing he liked. He couldn’t imagine why Obi-Wan would have so much trouble getting permission to investigate, except perhaps that Anakin was rather young to be dragged into such a thing. Aayla was old enough for crazy adventures involving missing planets.

“I’ll say it is. You want me to check it out because you’re not allowed to.”

“You know me so well.”

“Rule-bound and quietly rebellious at the same time, classic Kenobi.”

“I’m taking Anakin to Ilum tomorrow. We just got back from Mandalore, but now that Anakin is thirteen, its’s time for him to build his lightsaber.”

“Well, that should be fun. See you around then.”

After Quinlan Vos left, Obi-Wan tried again to meditate and did manage for a while before it was time to meet Anakin for lunch. Obi-Wan felt proud of himself for being functional today on the one hand, but also ashamed that this was a rare achievement. He should be a hands-on, alert master all the time. He used to do so well when Anakin was younger.

Anakin was inordinately happy to see him. Force, was it that rare that Obi-Wan showed up reasonably lucid to the refectory? “Did you get your homework for the next week? We’ll have time on the ship for your studies, you know.” Anakin made a face but Obi-Wan knew he was not unhappy with the question.

* * *

By the time the two of them landed on Ilum, Obi-Wan was more than a little tipsy, although he tried his best not to show it. He wasn’t actually fooling Anakin, but the boy pretended not to know, the way he always did. As long as his master didn’t get any drunker than this they would be all right in the caves. The icy wind blew in their faces but Obi-Wan hardly seemed to notice. Anakin could only hope that he would notice any gorgodons looking at them with hungry eyes. Obi-Wan had remembered to update and bring Qui-Gon’s notes on the Gathering, which Anakin read on the ship. Luckily his master had been sober enough to answer questions.

On their way to the cave entrance, Obi-Wan began leaking unease through their bond. His shielding was not as good after he had had a drink. On the other hand, whatever he had had seemed to help with the cold. Given that gorgodons located their human prey by smell, Anakin could only hope that they would be repelled by the smell of alcohol emanating from his master.

Alas, no such luck. Right in front of the entrance to the cave, a gorgodon ambushed them, jumping on Obi-Wan from above and behind. Perhaps it assumed that he would be the easier target based on the way he walked, or it thought it more efficient to tackle the adult first.

Obi-Wan froze. He knew from experience that this creature had gleaming yellow eyes—just like the Sith warrior he had faced on Naboo. When Obi-Wan came here for his Gathering as a young boy Anakin’s age, he wasn’t bothered by the yellow eyes, because it was long before the trauma of losing his master to a member of an evil order long thought to be extinct. Poor Anakin was forced to watch his master struggle for his life, entirely dependent on his very young padawan, just as Obi-Wan had been on that terrible day.

Anakin watched it squeeze his master’s body from behind for a moment, until he was certain that it was not paying attention to anything else. He took a deep breath and Force-leapt into the air, landing on the rocks by the cave entrance. If he had had his own lightsaber this would be easier, but Anakin did have a long, mean knife from his previous life on Tatooine. Mos Espa was a rough place and his mother had made sure he had some kind of weapon, keeping it a secret from Watto. Anakin had never killed any people with it, but he had certainly used it to threaten Sand People. He unsheathed it now and threw it into the vulnerable part of the back of the furry reptile’s neck, guiding it with the Force, moments before the monster was about to sink its three layers of teeth into Obi-Wan’s throat. The gorgodon gave a loud, anguished cry, almost as terrifying as that of a Krayt dragon, thrashed its mighty tail, and slumped to the side, taking Obi-Wan down with him. At least the monster’s cry would warn other gorgodons to stay away from this pair of Jedi.

Anakin leaped down from the rocks and turned the knife in the creature’s neck before pulling it out, making sure it was dead, before helping his master to wriggle out from the dead monster’s gruesome embrace. He wanted to make the monster suffer in punishment for having attacked his master; anger surged through his body, roiling, hot, and red, until he noticed Obi-Wan looking at him with a mostly calm face that only betrayed his concern in the way his eyes looked grey. As Anakin’s anger subsided, Obi-Wan’s eyes returned to their happy blue.

“Good job, Anakin. Padawan.” Obi-Wan was not given to shows of physical affection, but he did squeeze the boy’s shoulder and ruffle his hair. “Let’s go into the cave before anything else happens.”

The entrance to the cave was hard to see at first as snow flurries obscured the sheer cliff face, but Obi-Wan remembered the high, narrow doors with the curving band of white running up and down them. “Here, those are the doors. Can you see them? There’s a hidden latch at waist level. I’ll help you open them.”

Once inside, it took a few minutes for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. There were two tall, hooded figures guarding a large door on the inside; Anakin’s heart skipped a beat until he realized that they were stone statutes. He had not noticed that he was clinging onto his master’s cloak. He gently let go, only to get a soft chuckle. “Padawan. We need to stay close for this part. Lead me to the right place. Listen to what the Living Force tells you.”

Anakin’s first instinct would have been to try to open the doors, but something told him that this was not the correct answer. He noticed a small opening in the wall beside the door. This was it. He clambered up the passage, Obi-Wan following, until he reached a small room with carvings on the walls. This was clearly a meditation chamber that had been part of the ancient Jedi temple here. Obi-Wan smiled. “Very good. First, we meditate. Then you can go down into the passage that leads into the crystal caves.”

They took their positions, sitting across from each other cross-legged. Obi-Wan was immediately transported back to when he first came as a boy no older than Anakin. Qui-Gon had also stayed behind in this room, ready if needed, but mindful that this was his padawan’s quest. The presence of all those crystals was soothing to him. Ah, Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan could almost smell his master’s hair oil, even though he had not used it himself today. He closed his eyes and focused on the memory of Qui-Gon’s face, voice, scent, and the comforting warmth of his embrace.

The warmth increased until it was a crackling fire returning Qui-Gon’s body to ash. Luminous beings are we, intoned Master Yoda in Obi-Wan’s memory. His master was one with the Force. Obi-Wan saw two pairs of gleaming yellow eyes peering out from hoods as the sound of the fire turned into the sound of evil cackling. The ground turned red and hot as one of the yellow-eyed hooded figures held a bottle of whiskey as if to offer it to Obi-Wan before pouring the contents onto the ground, igniting it. Qui-Gon’s dead body began to writhe as the limbs caught fire and the long brown hair dissolved into flame. “I loved you…” Obi-Wan startled himself by speaking the words out loud. Had he been the master to Anakin that Qui-Gon could have been, the master that he needed, the master that Obi-Wan had had? He always felt like he wasn’t actually good enough to be a padawan, but now he felt like he wasn’t good enough to be a knight, let alone the master of the Chosen One. He reached into the folds of his inner tunic for his flask of rum and stopped. There were always two Sith; one of them had offered him a drink in the vision. No, that was a rude twisting of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s kind gesture at Qui-Gon’s funeral four years ago.

Meanwhile, Anakin was moving through the dark, rocky passageway. Even though he had never been here before, the memory of the caves on Tatooine helped him feel comfortable enough to focus on the Force. At the end of the passageway he almost gasped at the sight of the ruins of the ancient Jedi temple. He knew it would be there, but the rows of ancient carvings and pillars that decorated the walls were still impressive. Anakin soaked up the soothing Force in the room for a while before casting about in the Force for the entrance to the cave itself. Ah, over there.

Anakin tried not to make any noise as he moved through the temple ruins toward the entrance to the cave itself, but he tripped over a fallen pillar tile, sending echoes through the chamber. It was at that point that the imposing Zabrak man appeared. Anakin knew a Dathomirian Zabrak when he saw one, since Knight Ventress was one. He also knew that skin colors and tattoo patterns varied, that men had horns while women didn’t, but he had never seen anyone whose eyes gleamed an evil yellow like this. The man sneered at Anakin and said, “Pathetic lifeform!” as he ignited his red lightsaber.

Hey, this is familiar. Anakin had seen him before, when he was not in any physical danger. That was in Master Drallig’s class. When he was injured and unable to spar, Master Drallig had shown him the security holorecording of his master and grand-master dueling the Sith warrior on Naboo, pointing out the weaknesses of the Ataru form. Anakin had been amazed at Obi-Wan’s skill as well, since he never brought that kind of intensity to their practice sessions. The man now in front of him was clearly the Sith from that battle, whom he had seen cut in half and plunged down the shaft; he couldn’t possibly be real. No, this was merely a ghost, probably a test.

Anakin regarded the ghost. There was no point in fighting an apparition. He said, simply, “My master has dealt with you already. Who’s the pathetic one?”

The ghost faded away and Anakin entered the passageway to the caves. His eyes were used to the darkness by now. After dodging moisture dripping from the ceiling, he turned the corner and came upon the most beautiful cave he had ever seen. Stalactites hung from the high ceiling, but it was the doorway that caught his attention. Blue and green kyber crystals sprouted from the walls, glowing with an interior light that refracted on the jagged edges of the cave interior. Anakin focused on the Force, as his master had taught him to do. He listened to the space until he thought he heard someone calling his name. As far as he knew he was alone in the cave. He moved closer to the sound source, which seemed to be the right side of the doorway, among the blue crystals.

“Anakin Skywalker…” he heard his name repeated. Was there a sentient being in there? Then he remembered that his master had told him that one of the crystals would call out to him. He had no idea it would be literally true like this. He moved even closer to try and identify the specific crystal. The voice was coming from a blue crystal near the floor. Anakin placed his hand on it. This was the crystal. It seemed to melt into his hand as if it were an integral part of his body. He didn’t have to put much strength into his arms as the crystal came away easily in his hands. This was clearly the right one.

Anakin put the crystal into his cloak pocket and started on his way back. He was careful not to get wet or slip on the damp floor of the passageway back to the ruined temple. This time he did not encounter any dead Sith. He carefully made his way across the temple space and into the passageway back to the entrance. It felt quicker going back; soon he was at the bottom of the sloping passageway up to the chamber where his master was meditating. He sent a quick nudge through the training bond before coming up. He found Obi-Wan sitting cross-legged, concentrating with a serious expression, sweat trickling down his temples. “Master? I got my crystal.”

There was no response from Obi-Wan and nothing leaking through his master’s mental shields. Anakin put a hand on his master’s shoulder and immediately pulled it away, burning hot. Anakin had never seen him like this before. He tried a Force push in lieu of shaking him. It took several tries but Obi-Wan finally snapped into the present. “He’s not dead. He’s taller now, with new legs.”

“MASTER! You’re not making sense. I got my crystal. Maybe we should go back to the ship.”

Obi-Wan smiled weakly. “Can I see your crystal? It’s blue, isn’t it?”

Anakin pulled it out of his pocket and placed it in his master’s hand, which was back to normal temperature. He didn’t know how his master had known its color. Obi-Wan smiled wider, this time with genuine delight.

“Padawan, you chose correctly. Good job. You’re right, we need to get back to the ship before the gorgodons decide it’s dinnertime.”

As soon as his padawan’s back was turned, Obi-Wan fortified himself with a healthy helping of rum from his hidden flask. He wanted to chase away his vision of Darth Maul so that he could face the gorgodons again, but he didn’t want Anakin to worry too much about him.

When they reached the entrance of the cave complex, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Anakin nodded. They took three breaths in unison, then Obi-Wan opened the door just enough for them to get out, before they made a run for it back to their ship. Anakin jumped in first, then Obi-Wan closed the hatch behind him, just as a gorgodon came lumbering into view. They started the craft and were airborne before the monster was fully aware of the tasty Jedi dinner it had missed.

“Yippee! Mission accomplished! I can’t wait to build my own lightsaber and show Alema!” Anakin’s mood quickly turned celebratory when they were safely out of Ilum’s atmosphere. He would have liked to suggest going to Dex’s Diner, but the thought of Jawa Juice made him think better of it. By grinning he was actually trying to cheer up his master without letting him know that that was what he was doing. For his part, Obi-Wan held his mental shields as firmly as he could in order to avoid leaking the image of Darth Maul.

“I’ll help you build your lightsaber when we get back. Now that we’re in hyperspace, you should sleep. You have homework to do.” Obi-Wan tried to sweeten the prospect of homework by squeezing Anakin in an awkward semi-hug. Having grown up without much physical affection from anyone, Obi-Wan was still struggling with hugs. It was Siri who first taught him to hug, although his graduate course in the subject had been taught by Satine. Anakin was the opposite. His mother had hugged him regularly, so that he expected Obi-Wan to hug him, too.

* * *

Obi-Wan was quietly proud of himself when they landed on Coruscant a couple of days later. He had not had a drink since boarding the ship, although his every waking moment he struggled to focus on Anakin’s homework and not think about his next drink. The mission had succeeded, he had helped Anakin write and submit his very first mission report, overseen homework, managed eating and sleeping schedules to minimize disruption, and generally been the master he wanted to be. He sang Satine’s Mandalorian lullaby to Anakin on multiple occasions; the boy appreciated it more now that he had been to Mandalore and met the beautiful lady whose song it was.

Of course, he was very proud of Anakin as well. He wanted desperately to boast to someone, perhaps Master Dooku, who would share his pride; Asajj, Garen, Bant, Siri; or even Master Fisto, Master Koon, Master Windu, or Master Yoda. On the other hand, it would be awkward to explain why he was so inordinately proud without being accused of having a dangerous attachment. Satine would be the best audience, but she was not on Coruscant. No, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine would have to do.

* * *

“I’m so glad to hear about your young apprentice. You must be so proud of him.” Supreme Chancellor Palpatine smiled at Obi-Wan in his characteristic grandfatherly way.

“That mission is an important milestone in a young Jedi’s life. He just turned thirteen, so he was definitely ready. I’m really looking forward to helping Anakin with the next part of the process after he gets out of class today. I promised him I would help.”

“Well, this calls for a celebration. You’re right, thirteen is a major lifeday, especially for a young Jedi, I understand. A toast to young Anakin Skywalker.” The chancellor from Naboo pulled out two cordial glasses from his desk drawer and a bottle of sherry from somewhere. Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment. He was also proud of himself for not drinking too much during Anakin’s quest on Ilum, but that did not concern the good chancellor. He decided it would be rude not to accept and raised the offered glass as a toast before downing the contents.

Thirteen. Obi-Wan remembered his own thirteenth lifeday. That was the day he was shipped off to Bandomeer, having failed to be chosen as a padawan. What a lovely present that was, too. Anakin had had a rough early life, but at least he was wanted. Qui-Gon had been very vocal about wanting to train him, and of course the boy’s mother loved him. Even Watto, disgusting sleemo of a slaveowner as he was, had quoted a high price for Anakin, so that at least Anakin knew he was not worthless, not even monetarily. Obi-Wan still struggled with feelings of worthlessness, which he tried not to spread to Anakin by making it clear that he wanted the boy, and not just because his dying master manipulated him into taking him on. In a strange way, Anakin was lucky.

The details of lightsaber construction and of the Gathering on Ilum were secrets that were not to be leaked to non-Jedi, so Obi-Wan was careful at first not to give more than a very general account with no proper names. He caught himself hoping for a second glass of sherry, or, better yet, something stronger, but he would not dare presume on the good chancellor’s hospitality.

“That child is truly lucky to have you for his master. You’re young enough yourself that it must be easy for him to identify with you, but you’re also old enough to be a trustworthy authority. You’re still in your twenties, correct?”

“Yes, I’m twenty-nine. I’m afraid I won’t be in my twenties much longer.” Obi-Wan did not really care too deeply about his age, except perhaps the way his baby face made him look younger. He did not mind the fine lines appearing around his eyes; they made him look more distinguished.

“There, you see. You have a lot of responsibility for a man who is still so young. Senators’ aides your age are still going to parties and having fun. You’re truly a remarkable young man, giving the best years of your life so selflessly. I hope the boy appreciates it.”

These comments made Obi-Wan a little uneasy, but there was nothing for it but to smile and nod with his customary cool Jedi mask. He could not tell Supreme Chancellor Palpatine that he did have fun, just not at parties. One did not need to go to bars in order to enjoy one’s youth. Eventually Anakin would be old enough for that kind of entertainment; perhaps they could go to one of the less seedy establishments when Anakin was a senior padawan and it was time to bond as adults.


	15. Gathering Intelligence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin finally has his own lightsaber! Obi-Wan is not the only one struggling with addiction.

After he left Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s office, Obi-Wan was still in a fairly good mood, which was not so much genuine contentment but an attempt to push away the vague unease he had felt during his conversation with the chancellor. _I need a drink_.

Since he had been trying hard to be good ever since their return on Coruscant, Obi-Wan did not have his customary “liquid ammunition” hidden anywhere on his person. There was nothing for it but to procure a drink outside. Maybe he could go into a Coruscant diner or bistro and blend into the lunch crowd. It was still too early in the day to go to the Outlander Club, which was not what he wanted right now, anyway. He didn’t need anyone selling deathsticks.

Obi-Wan found a bistro in the mid-level of the city. This was the sort of place that catered to senators’ aides and not senators themselves. The menu was aspirational while the prices were more realistic. Obi-Wan made a mental note to remember this establishment to recommend to Siri, who had just taken a padawan. Perhaps there would be a party to celebrate; they could use a good alternative to Dex’s Diner.

The décor was also aspirational, with painted balsa wood paneling on the walls to simulate more expensive lumber and formica tabletops that didn’t really fool anyone into thinking they were granite. Obi-Wan chose a pleather barstool at the lunch counter and ordered a light snack to go with his wine. It was still too early for whiskey or brandy, but beer would not be strong enough.

He had settled into his drink when he became aware of a conversation going on behind him. One voice was Dathomiri while the other had a harder-to-place, more generic accent. They both sounded young, more than likely interns or aides working in the Senate, judging by the content of their conversation.

“I don’t know why my senator has so many business trips to Geonosis. There’s nothing there, just sentient, oversized insects. I’ve never heard of them doing interplanetary trade with anybody. What a senator on the Tariff Committee would do on such a planet is a complete mystery to me.” The Core-accent speaker seemed genuinely perplexed. He must be truly young and naïve.

“Are you kidding? Sure, they don’t trade officially, but the planet is riddled with secret workshops to produce all manner of droids and robots and other machinery for pirates, Hutts, Nightsisters, and any other unsavory characters you can think of. Well, maybe you can’t think of them, but anyone who grew up outside of a Coruscant bubble could. Your senator probably wants to take a cut of the profits from some nefarious deal on Geonosis.” Obi-Wan didn’t have to see the Dathomiri to know that she was smirking. The young aide reminded him of Asajj.

Funny business on Geonosis. This wasn’t new, but something about the conversation sent Obi-Wan into alarm mode as the Force warned him about the situation there. This was no ordinary pirate deal, but another project for Quinlan Vos. Unless, of course, the Council decided to let Obi-Wan investigate it himself, now that Anakin had a lightsaber of his own. He would have to do some research in the Archives first, though, because there was no way he could tell the Council his intelligence came from an overheard conversation at a bistro where he went to drink during daylight hours.

He must have sat there, lost in thought, for a long time. When he became aware of his surroundings again, there were two empty wine bottles in front of him and it was almost time for Anakin to get out of class. It was not until Obi-Wan tried to get up and settle his bill that he felt the impact of the wine. He was dizzy, but not in that pleasant, giddy, tipsy way. There was a wine stain on his brown cloak, suggesting that he had spilled some, but the color of the cloak would help camouflage it. He was mildly confused as he paid his bill and left. Now, which way back to the Jedi Temple? His tolerance must be dropping if he was this disoriented by two bottles of wine. Either the last few days of controlling his intake had caused him to weaken, or his liver was protesting. Obi-Wan hoped it was the former.

Obi-Wan managed to make it back to the Jedi Temple just in time to meet Anakin after his afternoon classes. Usually they would spar in the dojo, or, rather, Anakin would go to the dojo and find someone to spar with if he found his master not up to saberwork practice, but today they were going to build Anakin’s lightsaber.

Anakin smiled and ran to embrace Obi-Wan as soon as he spotted him. Kriff, he reeked of alcohol. Anakin’s excitement over the lightsaber helped him mask the apprehension he really felt about his master turning up drunk again. There was never any way to tell when Obi-Wan would be more-or-less sober and functional or when he would be drunk and disoriented. Apparently today was not one of his good days.

“Are you ready to help me build my lightsaber?” Anakin took it upon himself to gently remind his master of what he had promised. It would be dangerous in his current state to let him handle the crystal, the wiring, or the finished blade, but he could still probably make himself somewhat useful.

Back in their quarters Anakin set up shop in his room, since all of his tools were already in there. Obi-Wan cleared a spot on Anakin’s bed to watch. There was not much actual help or guidance he could give; Anakin had already read the notes left by Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan himself about lightsaber construction. Working with his hands helped Anakin to clear his mind and feel a sense of control.

Obi-Wan watched with mild interest, not speaking up very much, until Anakin finished the assembly of the weapon and turned it on for the first time. The bright, new blue blade illuminated the messy room with its raw power. To his credit, Obi-Wan did remember to say the traditional blessing.

"The crystal is the heart of the blade. The heart is the crystal of the Jedi. The Jedi is the crystal of the Force. The Force is the blade of the heart. All are intertwined: the crystal, the blade, the Jedi. You.... are one."

At this point, Obi-Wan’s voice developed a hitch in his throat, as if he were suppressing tears. Anakin guessed that this whole process reminded him of Qui-Gon. That, or Obi-Wan was happy and proud. The blue of the blade intensified the blue of Obi-Wan’s eyes, making his mood harder to read.

Obi-Wan could almost see Qui-Gon holding the blade instead of Anakin. Was Qui-Gon ever proud of Obi-Wan? No, of course not. Nobody could possibly be proud of Oafy-Wan, certified pathetic lifeform. He had been a millstone around his master’s neck, just as now he was a liability for Anakin. No, that wasn’t quite true. It was Anakin who had robbed Obi-Wan of his youth and freedom. If he didn’t have a padawan, he would be able to drink openly at home and not obsess about the volume he consumed—people acted as if only alcoholics engaged in behaviors such as hiding one’s drinking and fetishizing the amount one could drink as one managed one’s intoxication level, when these were natural responses to having children at home.

* * *

Queen Amidala of Naboo was not terribly trusting of Senate committees. She had seen investigative committees used to hide wrongdoing, the Trade Federation block the access of ordinary folks across the galaxy to basic goods, and the Diplomatic Committee waste time and money on throwing lavish welcoming parties for the same old guests who knew each other already. Even so, she had a distinctly bad feeling about Senator Hrod Milew’s joining of the Tariff Committee. He represented a planet with huge harvests that mysteriously disappeared each year; most peculiar indeed.

Although she was more often than not on Naboo and not Coruscant, she had her means of finding out who was doing what. She needed to know about the grain trade in particular, since food prices across the galaxy affected Naboo’s economy. It was difficult to imagine how Senator Hrod Milew could feel good about himself every morning waking up when he seemed to be secretly exporting so much of his planet’s food, to the point of causing food shortages at home. Queen Amidala would certainly never consider starving her own people for profit; even though he gave her a slightly icky feeling, Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine seemed unlikely to propose this as well, especially given the way he was in favor of capitulating to the Trade Federation four years ago during the blockade on their planet.

* * *

Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore was not too concerned yet, even though her twenty-eight day cycle seemed to be running late. More pressing was what to do about Jango Fett, the rogue warrior who had made an attempt on her life. She did not hate him at all, and certainly did not want him executed. Even Korkie had been in favor of keeping the man in custody, but Satine had decided to let him go free. She had forgiven him, and it was cruel to keep a Mandalorian locked up. Besides, if she created a debt of gratitude, he might think twice about attacking her again. There was always a better way than bloodshed.

As she went to his holding cell to see him, memories of Ben on that morning came back to her, so that she had to suppress a smile. It was unseemly to grin at an assassin who had almost killed her, but she almost couldn’t help it. Ben had grown into a fine, handsome, mature man with most of the good qualities of the boy he had been. If she had her way, that beard would go, so that she could get a better view of his dear face. Seeing his interaction with Anakin, it was obvious he would make a good father if he ever took up family life. He might have to be reminded not to drink so much of her wine stores, but he was definitely still a good lover and highly intelligent with that natural nobility she had found so impressive as a teenager. He would make an ideal duke consort, if it were meant to be. Alas, the man was a Jedi.

* * *

A red-skinned Zabrak man landed quietly on Coruscant. He was meeting a disgruntled Mandalorian mercenary at the Outlander Club, which had been his own choice. Seedy bars were useful for shady dealings, especially if one was supposed to be dead. Darth Maul smiled bitterly. This was the planet where Kenobi lived. He must have a cushy life compared to himself. Darth Maul had had a terrible childhood, being born on Dathomir to Mother Talzin, being trained and tortured from a young age by his master, losing the bottom half of his body entirely, living on a trash heap, getting new legs in an operation so painful that he had become dependent on painkillers, which his master now cruelly denied him. Darth Maul’s tragic life was nothing like Kenobi’s charmed life as a Jedi, that was for sure.

He slipped into the Outlander Club and sidled up to the bar. There were the usual collection of shady characters, including a blonde Zabrak female who was looking at all of the male patrons lasciviously, at least, all of the humanoid ones. She was eyeing Darth Maul hungrily as well. If he still had his lower half, he would be flattered, but now it felt like a cruel taunt.

“What’ll it be, mister?” The bartender was not overly polite. Darth Maul scanned the bottles behind the bar. His eyes settled on a bottle whose contents gleamed yellow. The label said it was mead.

“I’ll have mead.” Darth Maul did enjoy his drinks, especially the strong ones that helped to numb his pain, but alcohol was not his main vice. The blonde woman fished a deathstick out of her bra at the other side of the bar, and Darth Maul suddenly found her much more alluring.

He caught her eye and gave her his best come-hither smile. Kriff, he was out of practice. She seemed to take the hint, however, and sidled up to him. “Hello there, big boy. Aren’t you a bold one?”

Darth Maul smiled again and extended his hand to the woman. “The name’s Opress.” Surely his brother wouldn’t mind lending his last name like this. “I see you’re a Zabrak, too. I want to buy some deathsticks.”

“I’m Womba. You want to buy some deathsticks? I’ll give you a deathstick if you give me a kiss.”

Darth Maul leaned in closer to the woman, placing his face within easy reach. He knew that it was always wise to let the lady take the lead. He closed his yellow eyes and waited. He felt Womba’s face come closer, then press against his. He puckered up and began to kiss her. Once they had gotten going, he opened his mouth a bit and began to trace her lips with his tongue. He heard a contented murmur as she opened her mouth, her tongue coming out to meet his. Her hands also began to roam over his still-clothed upper body, taking in his well-muscled physique. Perhaps she would enjoy looking at the tattoos on his arms and chest.

This was not something he ever would have done before Naboo, but now he would do just about anything for a deathstick. His master frowned on young Sith apprentices kissing strangers in bars, not because of attachments, but because it tended to diminish the power of rage and hatred. If only he still had his original legs, he could be well-entertained here.

After the kiss, Womba kept her eyes shut for a while, a look of pure ecstasy on her face. When she came back into the present, she blushed a bit, then smiled. “That was the best kiss I’ve had in a long time. That was worth not just a deathstick, but a bag of spice. No, make that two deathsticks and that bag of spice.”

Darth Maul smiled again. “Look at that smile, you’re kriffing gorgeous. You put out much better than the Jedi drunk who comes here sometimes. He’s gorgeous too, at least, for a human, with his blue eyes and red hair, but he’s only interested in getting drunk, not in showing a lonely lady some love.”

A human male Jedi with blue eyes and red hair? Darth Maul knew of one individual who fit that description. “I might know him. Did he tell you his name?”

“No, he didn’t. But if you see him, you can tell him that he needs to reciprocate the kiss next time, not just offer his cheek. He did let me kiss the tip of his nose the time before last, which was good, but he ran away from me last time.”

“Sounds like he’s a regular. The man I know is called Kenobi.” This was good, to find a Kenobi haunt.

“I wouldn’t say he’s a regular. I’m here every day, that’s a regular. He comes once in a while. This is one of the few bars that serve the hard stuff to Jedi. That’s why he comes. He drinks a truly impressive amount when he does come, though.”

Darth Maul smiled again. A drunken Kenobi would be easier to defeat. “Does he ever buy deathsticks?”

“No, he’s not on deathsticks or spice, as far as I can tell. At least, he won’t buy from me. If he did, he wouldn’t need to pay in credits. You don’t need to pay in credits, either. You can have as much spice as you like, since you clearly know how to show a lady a good time.”

At this point Darth Maul noticed a human male with short black curls and olive skin come into the joint. His brisk, professional manner identified him as a bounty hunter or mercenary. There were Mandalorian symbols on his breastplate. This must be Jango Fett, the man he had come to see.

“Excuse me. My business contact just came. It was nice meeting you, and I’ll be happy to kiss you again the next time I come.” Darth Maul gave Womba a quick good-bye kiss to shut her up before she could protest, then slinked off, drink in hand, to a corner table near the holoscreen before catching Jango Fett’s eye. The Mandalorian ordered something at the bar, then brought his drink with him.

“You must be Maul.”

“Yes, I am. Sometimes I go by Opress, which is my brother’s last name, but my name’s Maul. You’re Jango Fett, correct?”

“Yes, that’s me. I hear you want to build an army of battledroids?”

“Yes, I do. I want to occupy Kessel eventually, take over the spice mines, but first I want to be able to take over the chemical plants on Utapau to see if they can create synthetic spice.”

“Ah, the spice business. You’re smart to create a droid army first. There are already a lot of well-armed players in that game.”

“I also want to get revenge on someone. Well, actually, several someones.”

“That’s odd, so do I. Interesting how much we have in common. I want to overthrow the Duchess of Mandalore and her Jedi boyfriend. She’s a hypocrite, is what she is. She put me and my men out of a job with her pacifist nonsense, but she’s also quite literally in bed with the Jedi, when we Mandalorians don’t trust them. She’s a traitor and a dirty whore.”

“Jedi boyfriend? I have a grudge against a certain male Jedi.” Darth Maul could not believe his luck.

“You too? You wouldn’t happen to know a smug, redheaded chap by the name of Kenobi, would you?”

“One and the same. If you help me get my droid army, I can help you take out Kenobi and his moll. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, I daresay we do. I can have the droid army manufactured on Geonosis so that you have easy access to Utapau.”

This was incredibly efficient as an intelligence-gathering operation. Now Darth Maul knew that Kenobi had become a drunk who frequented this particular bar, and that he had a forbidden romance with the Duchess of Mandalore. Darth Maul did not notice, however, that Womba had drifted over towards him and was in earshot during much of his conversation with Jango Fett.

* * *

Obi-Wan met Quinlan Vos in the Temple gardens. “Did you find anything fishy on Kamino?”

“What kind of greeting is that? Well, yes, it was very fishy all right, with all that ocean everywhere.”

“Very funny. You know what I mean.”

“It was very strange. When I landed, I was told I was expected. That was funny, since I didn’t tell anyone I was going there. Then they said a Jedi master had ordered a vast army of clones some years ago. I asked who the Jedi master was, and they didn’t seem to know that there is more than one master in our Order. I had to prod the woman quite a bit before she gave me the name Syfo-Dias. I remember him. I’m pretty sure he’s dead. Whoever ordered the clone army is using his name.”

Obi-Wan winced as he felt a headache coming on. He took a swig from his thermos, hoping that Quinlan wouldn’t notice that the “tea” was mostly brandy. Quinlan himself was quite a drinker, so perhaps he wouldn’t hassle Obi-Wan about it if he knew, but he might tell Bant and Garen.

“What about the clones themselves?”

“I captured some images of them. They grow at twice the speed normal humans do. The template for the clones was a human. I saw them studying at cubicles and practicing their military drills. One of them met my gaze. It was a weird feeling, let me tell you. He was clearly an individual with his own mind and cognition, but he was identical to all the others. Here, have a look.”

Obi-Wan peered at the rows of clones. They all had short black curls and olive skin. Obi-Wan realized that he had seen their face before somewhere. He had met the original. But where?

“They look familiar. I think I met the original. Did they say who they cloned?”

“Yes, a Mandalorian named Jango Fett. Do you know him?”

“I stopped him from killing the Duchess once. Not that long ago, in fact. Maybe a year ago. He wasn’t a nice man.”

“I guess not, not if he was trying to assassinate the Duchess. So, what do I do with this information?”

“Why don’t you present it to a Council member? Master Koon or Master Yoda perhaps. Master Windu has a tendency to sit on information he doesn’t think is important. Don’t tell them I told you to look into it, because they won’t believe a word of it if you do. Tell them you happened upon it and then researched the rest.”

There it was again. Quinlan Vos was not sure why Obi-Wan expected to be disbelieved. Had he done something to disgrace himself? Perhaps it had something to do with his cloudy Force presence. Whatever it was, this was an important finding.

“Will do. Oh, and Obi-Wan? Get a haircut. If you’re trying to channel Qui-Gon, don’t. I can pull off long hair, but you can’t. See you later.”

Obi-Wan chuckled as he watched his friend walk away. It occurred to him that he had never seen Quinlan meditate. He was also glad that Quinlan had assumed that his letting his hair get long and shaggy again was deliberate and not simple negligence. Force, had he really forgotten to get his hair trimmed for a whole year now? He ran his hands through his hair, then returned to his quarters to get his credit bag. It was still early afternoon; Anakin would be in class for a while. Obi-Wan left the Temple for the mid-level of the city.

After the hairdresser chided him again for his negligence, he asked her if she had seen Master Dooku lately. Of course she had, the man was always neatly groomed. “He said he was concerned about you, that he doesn’t see you very often anymore. Shouldn’t you visit your grandfather, or whatever he is to you?”

“I suppose I should. He sees my apprentice more often than he sees me. He didn’t come to my boy’s lifeday party. My apprentice forgave him much quicker than I did, because he sent a beautiful cake. I wonder if he’ll come this year, or if we’ll be away on a mission on the day.”

“Well, I don’t know much about Jedi business, but I do know about grandfathers. I trained under mine. You should go see him soon.”

She seemed to take a savage delight in chopping off most of his hair again and in cropping around his ears repeatedly. Obi-Wan smiled at his reflection in the mirror when she finished. This was how Satine liked him to look. He really should do this more often. If he kept up better with his grooming, perhaps the Council would be less likely to dismiss him as out-of-it. Nobody called him a drunk to his face—well, except for Garen—but he knew that people were thinking it.

Obi-Wan felt up to saberwork practice today. He had been a very good boy yesterday and last night, not to mention today. Anakin would be happy to see his master feeling fine.

They were sparring and enjoying themselves when Obi-Wan felt a familiar presence. Ah, Asajj Ventress had come with Alema. Maybe she would give him a match later. No, better not. She would most certainly win, since his reflexes weren’t what they used to be. On the other hand, he felt good today.

Asajj Ventress couldn’t help but smile like a teenage padawan when Obi-Wan turned to face her after his match with Anakin. That man was sexier than he had any right to be, especially with very short hair, and best of all, seemed to be completely oblivious to this fact. “Do I get a match, too?”

“Yes, of course. Anakin can spar with Alema.” Obi-Wan smiled back, but Asajj knew that his smile did not mean that he felt the same way about her as she felt about him. As far as she could tell Siri also felt that way, or had at one time. She had come to know and respect Siri, even considering her a friend, but this was one thing she felt a little jealous about. This didn’t stop her from giving Siri sisterly advice on training her new padawan, however.

To nobody’s surprise, Asajj won. Even so, Obi-Wan put up a better fight than he had in a long time. “You know, Quinlan Vos went to Kamino lately, and found a clone army in production. You’ve been to Kamino, right?”

“Yes, a long time ago. Somehow I’m not surprised. I don’t think I’ve met Quinlan Vos. Is he one of your friends?”

“Yes, he’s one of our friend group. He’s usually on some crazy clandestine mission and doesn’t spend much time on Coruscant, so that’s why you haven’t met him. I think you’d like him.”


	16. Mum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extravaganza of Kenobi-ness! Poor Anakin and Bant see where Obi-Wan gets his. At least nobody goes swimming inside the fresher.

“Wise this is not. Obi-Wan not the best choice is. Send another we should.” Master Yoda twitched his ears.

“But you know how Stewjoni people are about offworlders. Obi-Wan was born there, and believe me, I looked for another Stewjoni Jedi, but Obi-Wan was the only one. I agree that he might not be the wisest choice to send on a mission to uncover how and why the deathstick market there expanded suddenly, but as far as we know, he’s not on deathsticks himself. Remember, we don’t know for certain what’s wrong with him.” Master Mundi’s face was impassive, but his voice betrayed his concern.

“What choice do we have? We send him with Anakin in tow, perhaps with Asajj or Yan Dooku as well. Or maybe even Garen or Bant. Bant might be useful, get the healer’s perspective.” Master Windu didn’t like this any more than Master Yoda, but saw no other choice. “I’ll send him a mission briefing, then.”

* * *

Obi-Wan was making dinner when Anakin brought him his beeping comm. An evening message from Mace Windu meant only one thing: a mission. Anakin couldn’t help feeling a little excited. They went on so few missions, for reasons Anakin didn’t like to admit, even to himself. As he told Garen and Bant in the refectory the other day, his master was not a morning person. They agreed that he had never been a natural early bird, but he could see in their eyes that they assumed the real reason Anakin was alone in the refectory for breakfast was that his master was still in bed, very hungover. He was doing better today, thank the Force.

“Kenobi.”

“We have a mission for you. You are to investigate the sudden growth of the deathstick market on Stewjon. Yes, I know. You were picked because you’re the only Stewjoni Jedi and the natives don’t trust offworlders.”

Obi-Wan remembered what Quinlan Vos had told him about his home planet. It might be interesting to see it for himself. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he met a relative, but the prospect of Stewjoni whisky was appealing.

“I see. Is it a solo mission, or do I have a partner?”

“You’re going with your padawan, and with Bant Eerin. Her medical expertise might be useful.”

Oh, kark. Bant? He had been carefully avoiding her. The Council must know about his drinking, then. No, wait a minute. There was no way that Mace Windu knew that Bant suspected Obi-Wan of being a kriffing alcoholic. Perhaps all was not lost. If he carefully avoided drinking around her, or hid it better, maybe it would be all right.

“I didn’t really want to send you, because it might be painful to see your people in such a sorry state. But you’re a Jedi, I trust you will do what you must.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Obi-Wan turned to face Anakin after Master Windu ended the call, he said, simply, “We’re going to Stewjon tonight with my old friend, Bant. I don’t know if you’ve met her.”

“Actually, I have. I run into Garen sometimes in the refectory at breakfast time, and she sits with Garen so I met her that way. I sort of like her. If we’re going to Stewjon, are we going to find your mom?”

“Maybe, but if we do, it’ll be by chance. I heard that Kenobi is a fairly common name on Stewjon, and that a lot of the people look like me.”

When they met Bant at the spaceport, she eyed Obi-Wan suspiciously before deeming him sober enough to smile at. She didn’t bother to hide her thoughts and emotions from Obi-Wan. After all, she was there for his potty-training. There was no point in observing formalities.

“Are you nervous about going to your home planet? I’ve been to mine. It’s a weird experience to see a lot of people who look just like you. I’m used to being the only Mon Cal in my group, after all.”

“A little. Quin told me the Stewjoni population mostly looks like me. I’m not sure what exactly he meant by that.” _They also drink like me,_ he added to himself.

* * *

When they arrived in the capital city, Obi-Wan was a bit horrified by what he saw. The people were light-skinned, like him, and a fairly large number of them were blue-eyed gingers like himself, but so many of them were sitting on the streets, taking deathsticks. This was the epidemic he had been warned about. He saw a man walking down the street, whisky bottle in hand, casually throw up onto someone’s speeder and walk away. The owner of the speeder emerged from a nearby bar, clearly drunk, and got in, flying it haphazardly. Surely Obi-Wan wasn’t this bad.

Bant noticed a hospital off of the main street. “Maybe we should interview a healer. That might help us get a good overall picture of what’s going on around here.” Part of her hoped that a Stewjoni healer would notice what was wrong with Obi-Wan and recommend some kind of treatment. On Coruscant he could always claim to be just fine as a Stewjoni and there would be no way to verify that, since he was the only one in the Order, but here, the healers would have seen thousands, maybe millions of thirty-year-old Stewjoni men just like him.

Obi-Wan had to agree with her logic. Of course, he was also vaguely alarmed, thinking that she might have a plot up her sleeve to have him locked away in the hospital, but it would be even more suspicious if he resisted. They went in, with Obi-Wan in the lead. The nurses and patients smiled when they saw him in his Jedi robes, clearly aware that he was one of them.

The receptionist beamed when he announced himself as Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight. “My last name is Kenobi, too. Dr. Minnear would be happy to talk to you. He’s almost retired, but he’s seen so many patients over the years that I’m sure he’ll have some good insights for you.”

When they took the lift up to the fifth floor, a nurse came to greet them. “This way to Dr. Minnear’s office, Master Jedi. My father would be happy to talk to you.” He was all smiles as he announced them.

Dr. Minnear himself was a white-haired old man with green eyes and rather soft features. Anakin thought that he looked a bit like an older version of his master. Dr. Minnear motioned to them to sit down.

“You’re clearly one of us, a Kenobi. My sister married one. She had five boys, one after another, but the middle one was taken to be a Jedi. You’re the first actual Jedi I’ve ever seen.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes grew wide. He knew that he was the only Stewjoni Jedi in the whole Order. Was this man his uncle? Perhaps he could explore that possibility later. The mission came first.

“Let me introduce my colleagues. Knight Eerin is a Jedi healer as well as a knight, so she’ll understand any medical explanations you give. And this is my apprentice, Padawan Skywalker. We’re here to find out how and why the deathstick problem has expanded so rapidly in recent years.”

“Deathsticks aren’t the only problem around here. Spice is less popular, but a lot of folks have a drinking problem. That isn’t new; my father and brother-in-law were both drunks. So many of us are genetically susceptible to addiction of any kind that whenever a new substance hits our market, people get hooked very fast. I see a lot of deathstick addicts who picked up the habit in bars, where they were already drunk when they accepted their first deathsticks. If a person is addicted to one substance, it’s easy for them to get hooked on another.”

“But where do the deathsticks come from?” Obi-Wan could feel Bant looking at him in a pitying way so he wanted to change the subject. He didn’t want her pity; he was already a pathetic lifeform, no need for his “friends” to rub it in.

“We didn’t know at first, but so many of the addicts who were brought to us said they had met Balosar immigrants in bars and clubs that we started to look into it. We don’t accept immigrants so they’re all illegals, but when I finally met one, I was truly horrified at what he told me. Deathsticks are made there, from a native mushroom, and the companies that make deathsticks have a stranglehold on that planet, keeping everyone in poverty. No wonder they come here, looking for a better life.”

“How many Balosar immigrants are there?” Obi-Wan remembered the artificially-created food shortages in the Outer Rim. This sounded similar.

“That’s what I wondered. Then it turned out that all of my patients had met just three individuals, brothers. It’s incredible.”

Obi-Wan had to agree with that. It seemed impossible that just three people could create a massive public health crisis on a planet not even close to their home world. Unless, of course, there was Sith involvement, although that seemed unlikely. Why would the Sith want to spread deathstick addiction on Stewjon? It made no sense. Perhaps the Trade Federation was somehow involved.

“What happened to those three brothers?” Bant spoke up for the first time.

“Well, one died of his addiction, one is struggling to get and stay clean, and the third is still roaming our streets. Deathstick addiction continues to spread even when there’s only one of the brothers actively promoting it.”

“Sounds like the spice trade. Addicts become sellers. I’ve seen spice addicts on Tatooine, my home planet.” Anakin made a good point. Even though he was just a child, he had a good understanding of all manner of shady underworld dealings. The Hutts were involved in the spice trade, after all.

“You know the mechanism so well. I’m afraid that’s what happened here.” Dr. Minnear looked at the boy with sad eyes.

“Can we meet the Balosar immigrant who’s trying to get clean? Is he here?” Bant asked. If anyone knew what was going on with the deathstick trade, it would be him. He might be willing to talk, unlike his brother, who would presumably have a vested interest in maintaining his business.

“He’s not here right now, but he does come regularly. I think he’s scheduled to come tomorrow. How about you, Master Jedi? Do you have anywhere to stay?”

“Oh, don’t worry about us.” Bant jumped in. She didn’t feel right taking advantage of the good doctor’s hospitality.

“My master is the only Stewjoni Jedi in the galaxy. I’m sure he’ll figure something out.” Anakin bragged. He felt proud of Obi-Wan when he was fairly sober and doing his job competently, like he was today.

“Really? You’re the only one? Then is it possible? What did you say your first name was, again, Knight Kenobi?”

“I didn’t give you my first name. It’s Obi-Wan.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi. Now there is a name I haven’t heard in a long time. You look a lot like my nephews, too. How old are you?”

“I’m thirty this year.”

“That’s about right. One of my nephews was a patient here not long ago, so I have his DNA on file. I can do a quick test on you if you would like. I would just need you to take a swab from inside your cheek.”

Good, it wouldn’t involve a blood test. Obi-Wan nodded his consent. If the test had required a blood sample, he would have declined as politely as he could, since he didn’t want his blood alcohol levels to go on record anywhere in the galaxy.

Fifteen minutes later, the technician came back with the results. Obi-Wan shared enough genetic material with Dr. Minnear’s nephew to be his brother.

“Well, I guess I should comm my sister. I imagine she’ll be glad to see you. She may even want to have you stay with her.”

“I really don’t want to be any trouble—” Obi-Wan realized that he was almost afraid to meet his mother, especially after what Dr. Minnear had said about his father and brother-in-law. It dawned on him that the drunken brother-in-law in question might be his own father.

“No trouble at all. You’re her son. Hello, Jeri-Mar? You’ll never guess who I have in my office right now. He’s a Jedi, thirty years old, blue eyes, short copper hair. The only Stewjoni Jedi in the galaxy. Obi-Wan Kenobi, your third son. You want to meet him? Of course you do. He’s got two colleagues with him. They don’t have any accommodations. I know you have room. Come get him, he doesn’t know your address, and the streets of Idoma are not safe after dark for him to wander around looking for your house. OK, we’ll be waiting for you.”

Bant and Anakin could both feel Obi-Wan’s nervousness. He was finally going to meet his mother, whether he wanted to or not. It certainly sounded like she was willing to meet him, which was a good sign.

About forty minutes later, a woman around sixty years old came into Dr. Minnear’s office. One look at her and it was obvious that she was indeed Obi-Wan’s mother. Her hair had faded to a very light strawberry blonde, but had clearly been ginger. Her eyes were the same blue-green as Obi-Wan’s, and she had the same nose and dimples, although not his cleft chin.

“You’re Obi-Wan? My, how you’ve grown!” She threw her arms around him before he had a chance to say a word. “Last time I saw you, you were not quite three. I hope you were a good boy.”

“I’m afraid he has a mixed record, Ma’am. I would know, I’ve known him since he was three.” Bant spoke up.

“Does he now. And who’s this little dear?”

“I’m Anakin Skywalker, Master Kenobi’s apprentice.”

“You have an apprentice already? I need a holo of this child to add to my collection of grandchildren. I want holos of you, too. Come on, you’re coming to my house, all three of you. I didn’t catch your name, Miss?”

“Bant. Bant Eerin. I’m a Jedi healer as well as a knight.”

“Good, we could use a healer in our house. Come along.”

They all piled into Jeri-Mar Kenobi’s speeder, Obi-Wan sitting in the passenger seat next to his mother. He had no idea what to say. “Dr. Minnear told me I was the third of five boys. I’m afraid I don’t remember my brothers at all.”

His mother pursed her lips. “One of your brothers is dead. My second son. He was killed in a speeder accident, leaving a widow and two girls. You’ll meet some of the others. My oldest doesn’t live with me, but with his wife and their children. My fourth son is on deathsticks, unfortunately, as is his no-good girlfriend. My youngest works at an honest trade and lives at home, with me. You’ll meet him for sure. He’s a quiet one, but a good boy. He wasn’t born yet when I gave you up. Come to think of it, I was pregnant with my fourth son at that point. No wonder you don’t remember your brothers, half of them weren’t born yet.”

Obi-Wan wanted to know more about his father, but wasn’t sure about asking. It sounded like his father had been a drunk, and that he was no longer part of the family. Perhaps he was dead, or had left. Either way, it would not be a pleasant memory for his mother to recall.

“I’m here on an official mission. I didn’t expect to run into an uncle and meet my birth family like this.”

“And what is the mission?”

“I’m investigating the deathstick epidemic.”

“You can investigate your brother, then. Goro-Ban won’t talk to me anymore, beyond asking for money and demanding to eat my food. Ah, here we are, welcome to the Kenobi family home!”

The house looked unassuming from the street with its square façade and grimy white plaster walls, but Obi-Wan suspected it was much larger than it looked. The entrance seemed to be quite some distance above street level, with a staircase leading up to it, although there was clearly a basement level that was only half underground. Mrs. Kenobi opened the front door and ushered them inside, joining them after she had parked her speeder.

Obi-Wan could see that there was a sitting room on the first level. The kitchen must be downstairs, along with the laundry room. But how did he know this, when he didn’t consciously remember this house? The bedrooms would be upstairs. “Come on in, make yourselves at home. That’s the family room straight ahead. There’s a sitting room for guests upstairs, but you’re family. I’ll tell your brother and father you’re here.”

Mrs. Kenobi disappeared upstairs. Obi-Wan stared at her retreating figure for a while before leading his companions into the room indicated. Holos of Kenobis covered one wall. It was amazing how many of them looked so much like him. Bant was smiling bemusedly. Obi-Wan’s head was spinning. He was going to meet his father? But didn’t Dr. Minnear imply that he was dead? It was impossible that his uncle wouldn’t know, since he was clearly in communication with his sister.

Mrs. Kenobi returned with a young man who looked about seventeen. He, too, looked just like Obi-Wan, except that he had long, blond hair. Obi-Wan suddenly saw what Quinlan meant about long hair not suiting him.

“This is your older brother, Obi-Wan. He’s my third son. Obi, this is the youngest, Dori-Zan. He’s twenty-four.”

Obi-Wan smiled. Another baby-faced Kenobi. He extended his hand in greeting and smiled again when he felt his brother’s presence. He remembered to introduce Bant and Anakin before his mother took a holo of Anakin. Obi-Wan was beginning to see why the boy was so attached to his mother. Having a birth family might have been nice.

“Why did you get rid of him, Mum? He seems nice enough and he just looks like one of us.” Dori-Zan eyed his older brother suspiciously.

“I didn’t get rid of him, as you put it. I knew he was different right away. It took me a while to realize that difference was Force-sensitivity, but your uncle did a blood test on him when I took him for his inoculations and discovered his high midichlorian count. That explained everything. Come on, Obi, I’ll take you to meet your father. He’s upstairs in his room.”

His room? Not “our room”? Apparently there were problems between his parents. Obi-Wan followed his mother upstairs, not sure what he would find. His uncle, Dr. Minnear, had described his father as a drunk. Was that the problem? But why would that confine the man to his room? _I could use a drink myself._

“Here we are.” Mrs. Kenobi knocked on the door before opening it. There was an old man sitting slumped on the floor. Obi-Wan noticed a medical-looking machine by the bed. “It’s time for dialysis, dear. But look who’s visiting us today. Remember Obi-Wan, the son we gave up to the Jedi? He’s here on business so I insisted he stay with us. Obi, this is your father.”

Obi-Wan knelt on the floor to match the old man’s eye level. The eyes were bloodshot red and rather cloudy from cataracts, but were unmistakably blue. The man’s hair was white, but his overall coloring was similar to Obi-Wan’s. The man didn’t appear to be looking at Obi-Wan as he sat and drooled. “Did you go fishing, Dad?” the man asked. Obi-Wan realized with a sinking feeling that his father had dementia. Apparently Obi-Wan looked like a youngish version of his grandfather.

“Yes, I did. But I didn’t catch any fish.” He knew better than to argue with a dementia patient.

“Who’s this ginger?” His father aimed the question at his wife.

“He’s our son, dear.”

“Fuki-Nan? He’s home?“

Obi-Wan realized this must be the name of his dead brother. He reached for his father’s hand and clasped it. His father’s presence was murky; was he on deathsticks, too? No, that wasn’t possible. This man was unlikely to be able to leave the house unsupervised, never mind make shady deals.

Obi-Wan sensed when the visitation was over and gently disengaged, backing out of the room, leaving his mother behind. His head was still spinning as he made his way back downstairs and into the family room. He found Bant interviewing his brother about Goro-Ban and his deathstick addiction.

“What’s wrong with Dad?” Obi-Wan asked his brother. What he had seen was deeply unsettling.

“Dad’s an alcoholic. His brain’s pickled. At least now he doesn’t go into violent rages so much anymore. Grandpa was an alcoholic, too. It runs in the family. So far none of our generation are, unless you are.”

Bant looked at Obi-Wan. He knew her meaning. He decided to ignore it. “I’m sorry, you were in the middle of an interview. About Goro-Ban’s case history as a deathstick user, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. His no-good girlfriend got him to try deathsticks when they went out on a date and he got hooked almost immediately. He didn’t stand a chance, he’s a Kenobi, we’re genetically pre-disposed to addiction. I gave Bant the medical details. What else would you like to know?”

“How did Goro-Ban’s girlfriend get a hold of her deathsticks?”

“From a Balosar. He’s still selling deathsticks, I think.”

“Dr. Minnear told us there were three Balosar brothers, one dead, one clean, and one still actively selling.” Bant chimed in.

“This must be the last of the three.”

“I’ve never met any of them. Goro-Ban himself could tell you more.”

“Is he likely to come home?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Probably tonight. He comes every twenty days or so to beg Mum for money. She shouldn’t give him money but it keeps him coming. I think that’s why she does it. What do you have in mind?”

“I want to go with him to the bar or wherever he goes to buy deathsticks. For my investigation, of course.” Obi-Wan glared at Bant.

The five people in their right minds had just sat down to dinner when someone rang the doorbell. Jeri-Mar Kenobi got up from her seat and answered it. It was Goro-Ban, so she invited him in, urging him to join their meal.

When he came in, Obi-Wan studied him. This young man had dark blond hair cropped to less than half an inch all over and his hazel eyes were a bit glassy. He was painfully thin but taller than Obi-Wan. Dori-Zan was also taller than him, for that matter. Perhaps Obi-Wan was the runt of the litter.

“Hello Mum, Dori-Zan.” Goro-Ban scanned the extra people in the room until his eyes came to rest on Obi-Wan. “Who’s the ginger?”

“This is your third brother, Obi-Wan. He came to Stewjon on business and found us by accident. He’s staying here along with his colleagues.” Their mother made the introductions yet again, but did not bother to give any details about Bant or Anakin. She gestured to Goro-Ban to come to the table.

He took a seat across from Obi-Wan and stared at him for most of the meal. “He sure does look like one of us. He claims to be my brother? I believe it, too.”

During the meal Mrs. Kenobi asked Bant all kinds of questions about Obi-Wan’s childhood; some of the stories were new for Anakin. Anakin was given a chance to talk about his life with Obi-Wan as well, although he carefully avoided mentioning his drinking habits.

After dinner Mrs. Kenobi chatted with Bant some more, this time about working in medicine. It turned out that Jeri-Mar had been a nurse’s aide. “Oh, and the hospital receptionist today said her last name was Kenobi as well. Is she a relative, too?” Bant asked.

“Yes, she’s the widow of my second son. One of the nurses at that hospital is my nephew, too.”

“I think we met him.” Anakin added to the conversation when he could, although he didn’t know much about medicine, because he sensed that he shouldn’t intrude on the three Kenobi brothers. They seemed to be planning a night out. This worried him, since at least two of the three were addicts, although he couldn’t deny that it would help the investigation.


	17. Deathsticks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goro-Ban Kenobi chooses life. Obi-Wan's gift is his song.

After Anakin went to bed, the three brothers left the house to go to Goro-Ban’s favorite bar. As soon as the men were out, Bant sighed. Mrs. Kenobi picked up on this. “I’m worried, too. I don’t like the company Goro keeps and I don’t want him to corrupt either of his brothers.”

“I don’t think you have to worry too much about Obi getting corrupted. He’ll probably be drunk out of his mind when he comes home. He’s always at least a little tipsy. He’s already corrupt, he’s a drunk. It’s painful to watch.”

Mrs. Kenobi looked down at the hands resting in her lap. “I had no idea. Part of the reason I gave him up was that his grandfather would go into drunken rages when Obi would levitate things from his crib. I thought I was giving him a better life, far away from our family curse. I should have known it would follow him.”

“I don’t see it as a curse. It’s up to Obi to seek treatment. He’s responsible for himself. I just hope he doesn’t hurt himself or Anakin.”

Meanwhile, the three brothers had reached the seedy bar where Goro-Ban normally bought deathsticks. All three ordered whisky, but even Goro-Ban was alarmed when Obi-Wan downed his in only a couple of swallows. He met Dori-Zan’s gaze. Their Jedi brother drank like their father did.

When Obi-Wan was on his fourth whisky and his brothers were finishing up their first, the Balosar deathstick dealer showed up. He spotted Goro-Ban and sidled up to him. “I got a new shipment. Hey, who are these two characters?”

“My brothers.”

“I see. You all look alike. How about it? Want to buy some deathsticks?”

“Sure. But first, I want to know you got the good stuff. From Balosar, pure unadulterated mushroom?”

“Yes, of course. That red-skinned, heavily-tattooed Zabrak thug wanted this batch for himself. You have no idea what kind of risks I took to bring it to you. Show a little gratitude.”

Obi-Wan’s ears perked up. “A chap by the name of Maul, perhaps?”

“Yes, you know him?”

“I have a long-standing feud with him. He wants to kill me because I cut off his legs five years ago.”

“Wow, you’re the one who did that? I never would have pegged you as a thug.” The Balosar had genuine awe in his voice. Since Obi-Wan was wearing some of his father’s old clothes with his lightsaber well-hidden, the deathstick dealer had not realized that he was a Jedi. For his part, Obi-Wan was glad to confirm that Darth Maul was alive. It was good to know that there was indeed Sith involvement.

As soon as he decided Obi-Wan was a thug from a gang opposed to Maul’s, the Balosar became very friendly and told him more details than he had dared hope to be able to get. He went so far as to buy Obi-Wan a drink. Even Obi-Wan’s truly alarming drinking seemed to impress him.

At the end of the unofficial interview Goro-Ban and Dori-Zan wanted to go home, but Obi-Wan wasn’t finished drinking. He tried to order whisky by the bottle, but when he was told that he couldn’t do that, he ordered seven shots instead, which was most of the bottle anyway. He finished the bottle with his eighth shot in a row. At that point his brothers decided to drag him home. Goro-Ban continued to think about all the details the Balosar had told him about the effect the deathstick industry had on his home world, forcing everyone into poverty. He didn’t want to think of himself as contributing to oppression. The girlfriend who had gotten him hooked had also cheated on him and left him in the dust just this week, anyway.

When they got home their mother got up to meet them. She was not surprised to see Obi-Wan the most impaired of the three, being propped up against his brothers’ shoulders. Bant was right. She did notice, however, the strange expression on Goro-Ban’s face. She didn’t ask him what it meant.

That night Goro-Ban took a deathstick, vowing to himself that he would quit. Seeing his long-lost alcoholic brother was jarring, especially since he had grown up hearing that his older brother was a wonderful Jedi hero and not a pathetic addict like many of the other men in the family. He was certainly an impressive knight, but he was obviously just as much of an alcoholic as his father.

In the morning everyone came down to breakfast except Obi-Wan. Anakin felt embarrassed yet again, since he could not come up with any likely excuses. If the mission or the trip to Stewjon were exhausting then he and Bant should also be worn out, while Obi-Wan’s brothers didn’t seem to be too tired from their investigation last night. Was it because Obi-Wan was older than them? Yes, that must be it. Turning thirty did brutal things to a man, apparently.

When Obi-Wan did appear for breakfast, he was still a bit disoriented at first until he saw his brothers who looked like him. He was glad for the greasy breakfast his mother had prepared for him.

After breakfast Obi-Wan, Bant, and Anakin headed back to the hospital; Obi-Wan was surprised when Goro-Ban asked to accompany them, although he was less surprised when his brother took another deathstick first.

In Dr. Minnear’s office, Goro-Ban eyed his cousin wistfully as the nurse reported on the other Balosar’s scheduled appointment. He knew exactly where his life had gone wrong. He surprised everyone, including himself, by blurting out to his uncle, “I want to get clean; is it too late for me?”

His uncle’s eyes teared up. “No, it’s not too late.”

Bant and Obi-Wan were led into a room with the recovering Balosar to begin his interview. She determined the chemical makeup of the drugs from a sample provided by Goro-Ban and asked questions about the production, refinement, export, distribution, and ingestion of the drugs, with Obi-Wan sitting next to her, still very much hung over, nay, still drunk from the night before. He did have the wherewithal to ask about the “red-skinned Zabrak thug covered in black tattoos.”

“He’s on deathsticks himself. He has mechanical legs that he said were painful. He attached them himself on a rubbish dump on Naboo, and switched to deathsticks and then spice when his boss stopped giving him painkillers. Poor devil was vicious and violent, but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He got into the deathstick and spice business to secure his own supply. He sent the three of us brothers to infiltrate Stewjon and addict the entire population.”

Obi-Wan looked down at the floor. It was his fault that Darth Maul was a deathstick and spice addict now, and that he was getting the entire planet of Stewjon hooked, not to mention increasing the economic suffering on Balosar.

“Did he tell you why he decided to target Stewjon?”

“Yes, he did, when he was high. He said it was the home planet of his mortal enemy, the man who ruined his life on Naboo five years ago.”

Obi-Wan let out a sigh and rubbed his temples, then his beard. “That’s me. I cut off his legs. He must have done some research on me and found out that this is my homeworld. I’m so sorry.”

“I wouldn’t say it was all your fault, Obi. He’s obviously trying to cause you pain. Besides, everyone is responsible for his or her own behavior after a certain age. Don’t go into one of your ‘pathetic lifeform’ spirals, Obi.” Bant knew him so well.

Meanwhile, Anakin was watching and listening as Goro-Ban and Dr. Minnear discussed a treatment plan. He had no idea an addict could just decide to quit taking the substance and get medical help to do it. This gave him hope for his master.

“Would a similar plan work for an alcoholic?” He finally blurted out the question that was on his mind.

Dr. Minnear eyed him for a moment, then noticed Goro-Ban also looking at the boy with a vaguely hopeful expression.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for your father, Goro-Ban.”

“Not my father. My brother, Obi-Wan.”

Dr. Minnear’s eyebrows twitched up. “You noticed the tell-tale smell of his body odor and the ever so slight twitching of his hands?”

“No, I was out drinking with him last night. I had two shots of whisky and of course some deathsticks, but Obi-Wan’s drinking put Dad to shame.”

“No, it’s not too late for Obi-Wan, he’s only thirty, but he has to want to get sober. No amount of other people wishing and hoping will help. He has to admit to himself that he has a problem and decide that he wants to stop. Not being able to admit to himself that his drinking isn’t normal is actually a symptom. He probably says and does things he wouldn’t if he were sober. Looking at his complexion in comparison to Fuki-Nan before he died, I’d say there’s already some damage to his liver.”

Anakin’s eyes grew wider. “What can I do to make him stop?”

“Were you listening at all? Other people can’t make him stop. You want to help him. You can do that by not enabling him. Don’t make excuses for him or clean up after him. Don’t protect him from the natural consequences of his behavior. He doesn’t seem to be violent; is he?”

Anakin shook his head and looked down. Had his relationship with his master over the past five years actually hurt the man he had come to love as a father? If so, how could he forgive himself? He began to feel the red-hot anger swelling inside him.

“I know it’s hard to take, son. I grew up with an alcoholic father myself. Tough love doesn’t mean you love him less, it means you love him more.”

After their hospital visit, Obi-Wan, Bant, and Anakin returned to the Kenobi family home. Obi-Wan and Bant started work on their mission report while Anakin explored the house. Mrs. Kenobi was out shopping, and Dori-Zan was at work. Obi-Wan didn’t bother to tell Anakin to stay out of trouble; after all, the boy was fourteen now. He didn’t need quite so much supervision.

Anakin padded upstairs, originally planning to sit in his bedroom for a while and work on the homework Obi-Wan made him bring, but he heard a soft whimpering coming from one of the bedrooms. He sneaked toward the sound, his senses telling him that there was a human individual in distress. He peered through the keyhole of the master bedroom and saw a disheveled, decrepit old man thrashing around on the floor. The realization that this was Obi-Wan’s father sent a chill down his spine. The man seemed to be in pain. He was whimpering like a young child. Anakin decided to fetch his master and Bant, who was after all a part-time healer.

“Um, Master? I went to my room to get started on my homework, but I heard some whimpering. I found your dad. He seems to be suffering. I think you guys should have a look.”

Obi-Wan, having seen his father once before, had to agree. It was painful to think of him in misery; besides, even he had felt the negative swirls of the Force in the house, suggesting pain, fear, and confusion. He motioned to Bant to follow him and they went into the master bedroom.

“Dad?” Obi-Wan called to the old man on the floor. Bant knew old Mr. Kenobi had dementia, but had not actually seen him yet. She was professional enough not to gasp. Obi-Wan knelt down in front of his father and tried to comfort him.

“Mummy. I want my mummy.” Mr. Kenobi began to wail. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if his father would accept him as a substitute, but it was worth a try. He moved closer and wrapped his arms around the old man in a decidedly maternal manner, the way Master Tahl did when Qui-Gon didn’t know or didn’t care about how to comfort Obi-Wan after a nightmare. He never questioned as a young boy why Master Tahl was in their quarters in the middle of the night, but he was still grateful.

Obi-Wan then began to sing a Mandalorian lullaby, knowing full well that his father would not understand the words. The words weren’t important. Bant watched the proceedings from an unobtrusive distance, trying not to let leak her surprise at how melodious Obi-Wan’s singing voice was. Anakin was completely unfazed, which told her that he was used to hearing his master sing. The singing seemed to have the desired effect on old Mr. Kenobi. He began to calm down and even gurgle in delight like a baby as Obi-Wan repeated the song.

It was at this point that Mrs. Kenobi came home. Anakin heard her come in and slipped downstairs to tell her where to find everyone. When she came up to the master bedroom and found her son singing to his father, she simply stood there, dumbstruck. She had no idea there had been any Kenobis—or Minnears, for that matter—with musical or artistic talent of any kind.

Obi-Wan promised to keep in touch with his newfound birth family, even though this was against the rules, as they left the planet of Stewjon that afternoon. They had found the information they needed, after all. There was no reason to stay, especially since Obi-Wan felt himself starting to get attached to his birth family. Anakin wouldn’t understand the point of pulling away at this point, but Bant would.

* * *

“Hi Garen! I just got back from an interesting mission to Stewjon.” Bant ran into Garen in the hallway after they returned to the Jedi Temple. “I met most of Obi’s birth family. That really shed a lot of light on things.”

“Oh? How so? Why don’t you come into my quarters and tell me about it.” Garen did want to protect his friend’s privacy, after all. It wouldn’t do to have Bant regale him with tales of Obi-Wan’s birth family right out in the hall.

Once safely inside Garen’s living room, Bant pulled out her datapad with her notes from the mission. “First of all, as soon as we landed, I insisted we go into the first hospital we could find, to learn more about the deathstick addicts, and the doctor who talked to us turned out to be Obi’s uncle, so we stayed with Obi’s parents and brother. He had four brothers, but one was killed in a speeder accident. I met two of his brothers, and they looked just like him, except in slightly different colors. One was a deathstick addict, so Obi used that connection for our investigation. Can you believe it? We were on Stewjon less than an hour before we were surrounded by members of the Kenobi family. We met Obi’s dad, who had alcoholic dementia. Obi’s grandfather was an alcoholic, too. I never really believed in the genetic component to addiction before, but seeing so many Kenobis hooked on something or another has made me think. And then there was the time that Obi sang lullabies to his dad who was scared and confused. I had no idea Obi had such a beautiful voice.”

“Woah there. That’s a lot of juicy tidbits about Obi and his background. And of course Anakin saw all this, right? That kid knows more about his master than most padawans, that’s for sure.”

“Yes, he did. Can you imagine knowing that much about your master? I hope the Council takes our report seriously, because our sources implicated Darth Maul, the Sith who killed Qui-Gon. I thought he was dead, after all, Obi was knighted for having cut the man in half, but somehow he survived all that and got into the deathstick business, having resorted to deathsticks and spice to manage his physical pain. You know, even though he’s a Sith who killed Qui-Gon, I almost feel sorry for him, as a healer, I mean. If he were my patient, I would send him to the mind-healers too, so that he doesn’t spend every waking moment obsessing over killing our Obi.”

“I can’t believe it. He’s alive?”

“Worse, he’s targeting Stewjon deliberately to make Obi feel bad. Isn’t that awful? That’s sleemo behavior, as Anakin would say.”

* * *

Obi-Wan submitted their joint report, but didn’t expect it to be taken seriously. After all, the chief author was himself, the resident pathetic lifeform. He might even get into trouble for having worked with his birth family, even though this was not by design. It had been extremely helpful to be Goro-Ban’s older brother when getting the Balosar deathstick dealers to open up to him, but there was no guarantee the Council would see it that way. _I need a drink._

Seeing his father like that had been a shock. No son wants to meet his birth father for the first time and find him like that. Could that be his own future, too? He had heard about his father’s life, about the choices he made. Obi-Wan knew that some of those choices were exactly the same as his.

Obi-Wan drifted to the Outlander Club. It was much seedier than he liked, but as far as he knew he would be the only Jedi there, at least during the daytime.

He noticed that the same skanky blonde as before was there. She must live here. If she wasn’t a professional courtesan, she was at the very least a deathstick dealer. Deathsticks. His own brother was an addict. He found himself looking at her with less disgust than before. She was an addict; she was unwell. That was not the same as being a bad person, not that he would ever want to kiss her.

“Hey there, handsome! You’re back! I missed you. I met an old friend of yours. He kisses much better than you do. I let him have my deathsticks for a kiss.”

An old friend? Who could that be? Obi-Wan didn’t have any friends hooked on deathsticks, at least, not that he knew of. Surely she hadn’t met his brother. Obi-Wan could think of only one Jedi who might be even remotely willing to try a deathstick, but it seemed unlikely that Quinlan Vos would kiss this woman for one.

“I wonder who.” Obi-Wan settled onto a bar stool and ordered a large half-gallon jug of utoz. Even the bartender shook his head at him but he didn’t care.

“You should have told me your friends were gorgeous too. He was a stunningly handsome Zabrak with red skin and black tattoos. He was the best kisser I ever encountered. He earned that deathstick I gave him.”

Obi-Wan shuddered. Maul. That had to be Darth Maul. What was he doing here? Looking for Obi-Wan, of course. Naturally, a deathstick-addled Zabrak woman would find Darth Maul attractive. Of course. She must not know that his legs were not the only mechanical part of his body. He had been cut in half at the waist, after all. This woman would be disappointed. Poor Darth Maul. Maybe he would be happy in the arms of a woman like this.

Obi-Wan sat up with a start. He didn’t hate Darth Maul at all. He had of course been upset with him about Qui-Gon, but after five years of releasing those feelings into the Force, he did not actively hate Darth Maul, who had only been doing his master’s bidding. Now he actually pitied the man who had suffered at his hands. Hearing more of his post-Naboo struggles had made him almost a sympathetic character. What if he had been trained as a Jedi instead of as a Sith? Might he have been Obi-Wan’s friend?

“Then another one of your friends came. He didn’t give me any kisses at all, ignored me completely. I liked his short black curls and the shiny armor he wore. He was beautiful—for a mercenary, that is.”

This woman found pretty much any and all humanoid men attractive, apparently. The man described could be anyone, but somehow it was Jango Fett who came to mind. It made sense that a Sith would engage a Mandalorian mercenary. Satine. Obi-Wan shuddered. If Darth Maul was working in partnership with Jango Fett, then he knew about Satine. Seeing how he went out of his way to make Obi-Wan suffer by targeting his homeworld, he would more than likely try to attack Satine, knowing that this would hurt Obi-Wan.

“They started talking business and stopped paying attention to me. I thought that was boring so I sidled up closer to them but they were totally engrossed in their conversation. Something about building a droid army and taking over the spice trade, also they were talking about a woman they wanted to kill. I listened to that part because I was afraid they were talking about me, but it was some Duchess.”

Obi-Wan buried his face in his drink. Oh no. _This is exactly what I was afraid of._ He turned to the woman. “Can you remember any more details? Like any place names they said?

“I won’t tell you any more unless I get a nice kiss. As good as the one your friend gave. Or maybe you have another offer? The ladies’ fresher is dirty, though. A big bag of spice would be all right.”

Obi-Wan weighed his options. He wasn’t really willing to sleep with this deathstick-addicted blonde Zabrak woman he barely knew. Who knew what diseases she might have. He didn’t have a big bag of spice to give her, and it seemed unlikely she would be satisfied if he simply bought her a drink. That left a kiss as his only option. Even that was too dirty and disgusting; the only woman he had ever gone that far with was Satine and he wanted to keep it that way. He wasn’t anywhere near drunk enough for that. He had trouble getting drunk lately, too. Drinking was not that much fun anymore, but he drank compulsively. It was not recreational, but a matter of necessity. Or maybe he could think of something else to offer this woman.

“How about if I sing you a song? Would you like that?”

Her eyes widened. “You’re musical? How romantic! Yes, I’d like that. If I don’t like your singing, you still have to kiss me.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. Most of the songs he knew were either lullabies or drinking songs, but they would be all right as long as she didn’t understand the words. He started with a Ryl lullaby, which he tried to present as a love song. As he sang, the woman closed her eyes and smiled. Good, it’s working. He did not notice that the rest of the bar had fallen silent and were listening to him as well.

When he finished, she kept her eyes closed and said, “More please. I want a concert. I had no idea! You’re a revelation!”

He smiled politely and launched into another song. Anything was better than exchanging body fluids with this woman. If she asked him to take off his clothes, he would draw the line at his trousers. So far it seemed that it would not come to that, thank the Force.

After five songs, she opened her eyes and hugged him. “Thank you. That was so romantic. You made me feel like a lady. That, and you were incredibly good. I’ll tell you everything I remember.”

When she finished and went to the fresher, he reached into his cloak pocket for his datapad, thinking to write down what she had said, but the bartender assumed he was going to pay for his drinks. “Mister, if you sing like that during happy hour, you get drinks on the house. You earned them, mate.”

Obi-Wan grinned as he drained his glass. “Looks like I’m out of utoz.”

The bartender plunked down another large pitcher of the stuff, shaking his head. Obi-Wan pulled out his datapad and made some notes.

“Hey, five songs isn’t a concert. Sing us some drinking songs.” A rough-looking Rodian demanded. Obi-Wan decided to oblige him, going through his considerable repertoire in a variety of languages, with native speakers of those languages joining in for the chorus of each song.

After a gallon and a half of utoz, the bartender gently pointed out that his vocal quality had slipped and that he should probably go home, although his contribution to the bar’s revenue that afternoon was much appreciated.

Obi-Wan stumbled out onto the street and stood there, confused, for quite a while. He could not remember where he lived or how to get there. He was still singing softly to himself, the same song he had sung to his father. His father. Home was a long way from here; this didn’t seem to be Stewjon. He felt a rush of dizziness and held onto the side of a building. He thought of his father and mother, the way she immediately accepted Anakin as a grandchild. Oh yeah, Anakin. He must be out of class by now. Obi-Wan tried to send a nudge along the training bond, but he was too drunk for the words to come through. Those words were “I love you,” but Anakin already knew that without being told, surely.

Quinlan Vos was out cruising around the seedy part of Coruscant in his speeder, trying to clear his mind. He had presented his findings about Kamino to Master Yoda himself, then flagged down Master Windu for good measure. When presented with concrete evidence, both had shown signs of great dismay. This was serious, especially if nobody in the Jedi Order had actually commissioned it. The Kaminoans could not be faulted for producing a product they were being paid for; the bill would still have to be paid, and something done with the clones. Mace Windu remembered what Obi-Wan had said about the Trade Federation when he returned from Merisee. Apparently that was at least partially true.

Quinlan Vos was not really paying attention to the streets, but he did feel a somewhat familiar Force presence nearby, along with great sadness and confusion. He slowed down, and was rewarded almost immediately. He recognized the figure slumped on the sidewalk. The Jedi robes, the cropped russet hair told him all he needed to know even without being able to see the man’s face. He stopped his speeder and got out to get a closer look.

“Obi-Wan? Is that you?”

The man looked up and flashed a stupid smile. “Quin! I cut my hair nice and short, just like you told me to.”

“Yes, good job. You need a ride home, don’t you?”

“My dad liked my songs.”

Obi-Wan was not making sense. Quinlan Vos was glad he had come by this way. It was clear that Obi-Wan would not be able to find his way home on his own.

“That’s nice. Can you stand up? There you go. Now, walk a few steps to my speeder. Good boy. Now get in, sit down, fasten your seatbelt. We’re going home.”

“Mum is waiting, isn’t she?”

“Yes, of course.” Quinlan Vos had never seen Obi-Wan this drunk before. Something must have happened on his latest mission. Where had he been sent, again?

Then it dawned on him. Stewjon! Obi-Wan must have been sent to Stewjon and found his birth family. That could be traumatic for a Jedi, especially one as insecure and afraid of abandonment as Obi-Wan had always been. He had been directly confronted with the life he would have had outside the Order, the fact that life in his birth family had gone on without him, the parents who were capable of giving him up even as a toddler, whatever problems his birth family had, plus the fear of being punished for having made contact with them, even if he had found them by chance.

Obi-Wan finally seemed to fully realize who he was riding with, because his expression turned as serious as a drunk man’s could. “I was gathering intelligence. Darth Maul, he’s in league with Jango Fett. He wants to take over the spice mines of Kessel, conquer Utapau, and kill the Duchess. He’s making himself a droid army on Geonosis to do it.”

“If all that is true, then that’s serious.” Quinlan Vos wasn’t sure if he could trust any of this, given Obi-Wan’s current condition, not the mention the fact that he had gotten this information in a seedy bar. On the other hand, Obi-Wan had been right about Kamino.

“I thought Darth Maul was dead.”

“He was supposed to be, but he’s not. Oh no, they’ll revoke my knighthood and take my padawan away. Maul was behind the deathstick epidemic on Stewjon, too. He’s doing it to torment me. It’s all my fault.”

Obi-Wan began to cry. It was rare to see him shed tears, but he was very drunk. “I’m a pathetic lifeform. Everything would be so much better without me. I disappointed my mum, too. I saw it in her eyes when we came home.”

“Well, that’s a lot to take in. Here we are, Jedi Temple. You won’t be able to find your room, will you? I better take you home.”


	18. Satine Meets Her In-Laws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satine is safe with Mama Kenobi, even if her secrets are not. Darth Maul's nightmares are about: Obi-Wan!

When they reached Obi-Wan’s apartment, they found Bant and Anakin inside. Bant looked up at Obi-Wan with sad eyes, then glared at Quinlan Vos. She was assuming that Quinlan had taken Obi-Wan out for a drink. Anakin looked at his drunk master with a neutral expression as if this happened every day. Then it dawned on Quinlan that their reactions suggested that this _did_ happen every day. He had had no idea. If members of the Council knew, that would explain why Obi-Wan felt important intelligence should not be attributed to him, lest it be dismissed as the ramblings of a hallucinating drunkard.

He deposited Obi-Wan on the bed, removing his cloak and boots, then rejoined the others in the living room. “Hey, I didn’t take him out to get smashed. I found him disoriented and sad on the street and brought him home. I had no idea he did this sort of thing regularly. He tried to tell me about his latest mission and some intelligence he picked up, but he didn’t make much sense. Can either of you tell me what’s going on with him?”

Bant realized that she had left her datapad in her room. She had met Anakin after class, guessing correctly that Obi-Wan wouldn’t. They had not stopped by her apartment afterwards to get it. “Anakin, get Obi’s datapad, will you? I think he keeps it in his cloak pocket.”

Anakin nodded and padded into his master’s room. He gazed at his master’s supine form, noting the blank, red face that was much brighter than his hair, the wrinkled tunic, and the bulge at one side above his waist, visible because his tunics rode up, revealing his belly. What was that? Was his liver swollen? Anakin gently felt it. It was rock-hard. This was not a good sign. Anakin pulled the datapad out of his master’s cloak pocket and returned to the living room. He handed the device to Quinlan Vos and put a hand on Bant’s shoulder. “There’s something odd about my master’s belly. I think his liver is swollen. Maybe you should come see.”

Bant followed Anakin into the bedroom. She saw immediately what the boy was talking about. She felt it. Rock hard, but not in the way that his muscles were. No, this felt like organ damage. Surely this must hurt. They would have to keep an eye on this and see if the swelling of his right hypochondrium went down as his body metabolized the alcohol in his system.

“Do you have any idea how much he’s had to drink?”

“When he’s in this state, at least two whole bottles of whiskey, probably more, unless his tolerance is falling again. I better check the bottles under the bed to see if he has enough to manage his hangover. Maybe the bottle in the toilet tank, too. I know all his hiding places but he doesn’t know that I know.”

Bant knew about the hidden bottles but it was still disturbing to watch Anakin go through his routine with practiced ease. He was only a junior padawan, and shouldn’t be subjected to this. On the other hand, she also knew it would crush Obi-Wan if the boy were taken away from him.

Meanwhile, Quinlan Vos had found and read Obi-Wan’s notes from the afternoon before he found their latest mission report. Things were starting to make sense, with the Trade Federation developing a clone army and Darth Maul ordering battle droids to protect or gain monopolies on their respective markets while gaining the capability to combat existing players. If they clashed with each other, there would be a full-scale war. But surely, there was more to this than what Obi-Wan had uncovered. There must be a mastermind. If Darth Maul was alive and active as a Sith, then there must be another one somewhere, since Sith were always found in pairs. Who could the other one be? Darth Maul was still young; he was likely the apprentice of the pair.

Bant and Anakin came back out into the living room. Quinlan Vos looked up at them. “The information he has is very serious stuff, if it’s true.”

“I can vouch for what was uncovered on Stewjon because I was there. I’m glad I was, too. I met Obi’s birth family and saw for myself how many of them were alcoholics, I saw Obi’s behavior up close and can confirm he’s not the Obi we remember, and I’m glad I can confirm our findings because if he had gone alone, he wouldn’t be taken seriously, not with this behavior.”

“I can see that. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know about his drinking. If he drinks like that trying to copy me, because I gather intelligence in shady places like he’s trying to do, then he’s got it all wrong. I drink, as you well know, but not like that. I talk about drinking more than I actually drink. I feel bad now. Maybe I’m his inspiration for doing this to himself.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to blame you, Quin. Obi’s a grown man, he’s thirty, he’s responsible for his own actions.” Bant’s huge eyes betrayed her sadness.

“Who should investigate the droid army part? Jango Fett is a Mandalorian. It’ll be hard to get a warrant.”

“What are you talking about?” Bant looked confused. Quinlan Vos realized that she had not read today’s notes. He opened that file up on Obi-Wan’s datapad and gave it to her to read.

“This was basically a honey trap operation. Obi used himself as bait?” Bant could not believe what she was reading. Sure, her friend was certainly good-looking enough to pull it off, but this was out of character. “He can’t possibly share this with the Council.”

“I know, but if any of this is true, it’s a serious threat. I guess I’ll have to go, or somebody. Maybe Siri or Master Dooku.”

“Siri has a padawan. Do you think the boy is old enough to get involved in something dangerous like this? Master Dooku might be a good choice, but I’ve never met him so I don’t know.”

“You never met Master Dooku? That’s incredible. On the other hand, he and Qui-Gon weren’t close while you guys were padawans, so I guess it’s not that much of a stretch. You approach Siri first.”

“But I’m afraid Master Dooku is too old and respected for this kind of shadow mission now. Not to mention that he can’t slip under the Council’s radar.”

“You’re right. Besides, the nefarious activity is still in the planning stages. There’s nothing indictable yet. I guess the best approach is for me to shadow one of them and Aayla the other. She’s a senior padawan, she can handle it. Our training bond is solid. I’ll go discuss it with her. First I need to transfer this data from Obi-Wan’s device, though. We’ll need it.”

* * *

Obi-Wan awoke to find his head pounding and at least thirty missed calls on his comm unit. At first he was afraid that Mace Windu was trying to reach him, but then he saw that all of the calls were from the same unfamiliar frequency. He returned the call, only to be surprised when a woman answered, “Kenobi.”

“Mum?”

“I’ve been so worried. I wanted to know that you made it home. Goro had a message for you. He said to thank you but he didn’t say what for. Dori sends his regards, and even your father seems to miss you. He keeps asking for someone to sing to him.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “That’s a Mandalorian lullaby. I learned it when I lived on Mandalore as a teenager.”

“Was she sweet?”

“Who, Mum? What are you talking about?”

“You learned it from a girl. I hope she was nice. There’s no use playing dumb, Obi, you can’t fool your mum. I just hope you aren’t too badly hung over and that you didn’t get hurt.”

Obi-Wan groaned. He had barely even met this woman and she could already read him almost as well as Qui-Gon could. “Yes, she was a nice girl. A duchess, in fact.” He decided not to try to deny his hangover. He couldn’t fool his mother anyway.

“That’s my boy. Aim for the top.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I hope you realize I’m not supposed to have met you at all. I’ll get into big trouble, so don’t comm me too frequently. Say hello to everyone.”

“All right, I suppose. Send me holos of Anakin as he grows. And some of yourself.”

“I will. Bye, Mum.”

Obi-Wan did not check the chrono in his room when he stumbled out into the living room in just his underwear. It barely registered that the room was full of women: Bant, Asajj, Alema, and Siri were all huddled around Obi-Wan’s datapad.

“There you are, Obi. Maybe you can explain your notes from yesterday afternoon a bit better? Alema has to go to class but the rest of us would love to hear.”

Bant had taken charge again, the way she always did. Obi-Wan was still disoriented enough to sit down next to Asajj in only his underwear and to fail to notice her normally ghostly face flush a bright crimson. Siri struggled to keep her eyes on the datapad. Only Bant was unfazed by the oblivious display of so much bare skin. Her eyes scanned his flesh for medical abnormalities but nothing more.

“And who were you talking to just now?”

“My mum.” Obi-Wan blurted out in the face of Bant’s questioning. He never could keep secrets from her very well.

“Ah. She might be helpful. If Maul or Fett threatens the Duchess of Mandalore, we can hide her at your mother’s. They think they’ve already done their mischief on Stewjon, so they won’t expect that.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Of course Korkie will have to accompany her. He’s her nephew, but he might as well be her padawan.”

“Good point. Do you think your mother would take them in?” Siri joined the conversation at this point. She could relate to having maternal feelings toward a young male padawan.

“No problem. My mum already knows the Duchess is the one who taught me the lullaby I sang to my dad to calm him. She’ll be delighted to have a lullaby singer on standby.”

“You sing?” Asajj had regained some of her composure by now, but she was still trying to mask how eager she was to learn all that she could about Obi-Wan.

“Yes. That’s how I gathered the intelligence from yesterday’s notes. I met a Zabrak woman who wanted me to kiss her because Maul did. He did it for a deathstick. I didn’t want to kiss a deathstick addict, so I sang to her instead, in exchange for information about Maul.” Obi-Wan conveniently left out the rest of the details, even though all of the women present were well aware of his dipsomania.

“What did you sing?” Asajj let her curiosity get the better of her. She hoped that he hadn’t been singing beautiful love songs to random addicts in bars.

“Lullabies, mostly.”

“I heard him singing to his dad. We’ll have to make him sing for us. He’s got an incredible voice.” Bant was grinning mischievously.

“Why would those two villains target the Duchess of Mandalore? Fett would be politically motivated, but why Maul?” Asajj asked. She knew the answer but she wanted confirmation one way or the other.

“Obi spent a whole year living on Mandalore during a war or something, protecting her the whole time. I think this was when he was sixteen. So you could say she’s an old friend.” Bant decided not to go beyond that, although she suspected the two were more than just friends.

After they had grilled him on his notes for an hour, Siri looked up from the datapad. “Obi? You might consider putting some clothes on, maybe. You might feel up to eating by now, too.” Obi-Wan looked confused for a moment, then his gaze migrated down to his lap. His eyes grew wide when he realized that he was not wearing much of anything. He ran a hand through his hair, noting the top was sticking up. It was short enough to look all right that way, but he preferred to look controlled and tidy, to mask his chaos.

“May I do that?” Asajj asked permission before ruffling his hair. Bant looked on in amusement while Siri snickered. Asajj was adorable with her schoolgirl crush, even though she was older than Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan submitted to being petted like an animal. His headache and nausea made resistance impossible.

He excused himself to his bedroom, from which he could access the fresher without going through the living room. He did not like what he saw in the mirror. Although he had lamented his baby face for years, the lined yet puffy face staring back at him was not what he had hoped for, either. He even trimmed his beard, although he was still too dazed to clean up after himself. Normally he would be the one chiding Anakin for making and leaving a mess, but lately the score was almost even, with Anakin only slightly ahead in messiness.

When he emerged into the living room wearing clothes and with his hair mostly dry, the ladies were still there, and Bant was talking about their mission to Stewjon. The other two women giggled at the thought of Obi-Wan’s brothers looking just like him, only blond instead of ginger. “I only met two of them. I don’t know about the other two.” Obi-Wan made his presence known. This was, after all, his apartment.

“We’re not going until you sing.” Siri teased. In all the years that she had known him, she had never once heard him or any of her other friends sing. Singing was just not something that Jedi normally did.

Obi-Wan gave a sad little smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. “All right. I guess the Ryl lullaby I sang for the Zabrak woman. I have to warn you, though, I sang for a solid hour or more yesterday so my voice may not be so good.”

He began his song, and the jaws of two of the women dropped, while the third grinned smugly. She had already heard him on Stewjon. His gentle tenor cradled the words as it rose and fell in a soothing melody. If he added a sleep suggestion to the lullaby, all of his listeners would fall into a deep slumber almost immediately.

* * *

“Are you sure this is necessary? I don’t like to run away from my people like this.” The Duchess of Mandalore eyed the Kiffar man suspiciously. “And how do I know you’re actually a Jedi? You don’t look like one. Are you really Obi-Wan’s friend?”

“I’ve known him since he was in diapers. I’ve been tracking a certain young Sith for a year, knowing he would eventually come here and target you. He’s just trying to torment Obi-Wan by targeting you. He’s in league with Jango Fett so he knows about your relationship.”

Satine looked down. “He wants to hurt my Ben…I can’t let him, but I won’t let him bait me into fighting him, either. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe. You’ll see. And you’re bringing Korkie.”

A toddler came wandering into the room toward Satine, who scooped her up. The child had red hair and blue eyes that strongly reminded him of someone. He felt her Force presence and was fairly certain of her identity, but decided not to say anything.

“Of course, take any children you’re responsible for.”

“My sister has red hair.” Satine must have felt Quinlan Vos’ thoughts. They both knew there was a lot more to the resemblance than just hair color.

When they landed on Stewjon, Goro-Ban and Dori-Zan were there to meet them. Satine smiled to see the two copies of her Ben. This must be Stewjon. She realized that Quinlan Vos had kept their destination secret even from her because he was afraid of an information leak. The two Obi-Wan lookalikes smiled at the children. They obviously saw the family resemblance. Quinlan Vos herded them all into Dori-Zan’s speeder while the Kenobi brothers shared Goro-Ban’s.

As soon as they arrived at a house and opened the front door, an older woman threw her arms awkwardly around Satine. “Any friends of my boys are friends of mine—within reason, of course.”

She noticed the children and disengaged. She picked up the girl and pulled the boy into an awkward one-shoulder hug. “I’m Jeri-Mar Kenobi, mother of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight. Come on in.”

Once they were all settled, Mrs. Kenobi looked Satine up and down. “I heard about you. You’re the one who taught Obi that lullaby. His father loved it, so I hope you will sing it to him. Obi’s father has dementia, you see.”

Satine nodded. She had no idea how much Ben had told his mother. As long as she was simply an old friend who sang lullabies, that was all right.

“And those children. That boy is certainly not your nephew. Don’t worry, nobody told me. It’s just that I know a Kenobi when I see one. The girl, too. I can feel her, she feels the way Obi did at that age. They may call me Nana.”

“Did Obi-Wan tell you about us? He was only sixteen when we spent a year on the run together—that was his mission, to protect me—and it looked like we wouldn’t survive and we were in love so we said the traditional Mandalorian vows to each other. We were underage and there were no witnesses so our marriage is not legally binding, and of course he returned to the Jedi Order, so the marriage is a secret. If anyone found out, he would be expelled from the Order. Even he doesn’t know that he’s the father of these children.”

“I understand. I comm him a lot more than he likes, and he always says he’s afraid of getting caught being in contact with his birth family. His own mother!”

“How often do you comm him?” Satine could not imagine her Ben complaining about his mother the way men sometimes do, or addressing her as “Mum.”

“I wanted to comm him every day, but we compromised and now I comm him once every twenty days or so, unless he’s on a mission.”

Satine smiled. Mothers were the same everywhere. “And I saw you have a holo of Anakin on the wall. You adopted him as a grandson, didn’t you?”

“Why yes, of course. I didn’t know Obi had other children. I hope he’s all right.”

Satine assumed Mrs. Kenobi was talking about dangerous missions. “He has a lot of scars from his missions, but I find them attractive.” Mrs. Kenobi gave a sad little smile that looked just like Obi-Wan’s. She realized that Satine did not know. This was perhaps unsurprising, since they did not live together. On the other hand, there was still hope. Goro-Ban had gotten off of deathsticks almost a year ago. Obi-Wan was still a young man of only thirty-one.

When Satine met Obi-Wan’s father, the old man smiled. It was unclear who exactly he thought she was but he wasn’t wrong that she was family. He gurgled in delight when Satine sang the lullaby. Korkie padded softly into the room after her. “Aunt Satine.” Satine put her arm around the boy. The old man smiled even wider. Satine realized that Korkie was starting to look more and more each year like a younger version of Ben. The old man must have recognized him as a Kenobi.

“Grandson.” The old man said. He was right of course, but Korkie would chalk it up to the old man’s dementia. At that point Goro-Ban brought in the girl. The old man smiled again. “Uncle Goro.” The man pointed at his son. Today was one of his more lucid days, it seemed.

That night before settling into his room, Korkie came into the room Satine was sharing with Mrs. Kenobi. “Aunt Satine, there’s something that doesn’t add up.” Mrs. Kenobi was not in the room, so Satine braced herself. “These people don’t feel like strangers.”

“They aren’t really strangers. They’re Ben’s relatives. You remember the Jedi Ben, don’t you?”

“Of course. It’s more than that. I was looking at the holos on the family room wall and so many of the people look just like me, especially the children. Ben isn’t just an old friend, is he? He’s related to us somehow, I’m sure of it. But he’s not Mandalorian. What is it that you didn’t tell me?”

Satine sighed. “You’re right that Ben is related to you.”

Korkie’s sharp eyes betrayed a flash of indignation. “You’re still hiding something from me. He’s related to me, but not to you. He’s my father, isn’t he? Then who are you, really? I thought it was strange when you were ill last year until you took in that baby girl you said was a cousin. Ben is her father too, isn’t he? She was born three quarters of a year after his visit. I’m not blind, Aunt Satine.”

“You already know who I am.” There was no use denying it.

“My mother. These people really are my grandparents, aren’t they?”

“I had to hide the truth to protect our family. Ben isn’t supposed to have a wife and children. I’m not supposed to have a secret Jedi husband or seemingly illegitimate children. If people knew that you and your sister were actually my children, my enemies would try to hurt you.”

Korkie was still reeling from the truth. “But you still lied to me. Wait a minute, how old were you when you had me? You must have been awfully young.”

“Your father was a sixteen-year-old Jedi padawan when he and his master were sent to protect me. He spent a year with me, the two of us hiding in caves and living as fugitives. That’s why he speaks Mando’a. We were both sixteen and in love, and we thought we were going to die, so we said the wedding vows to each other. We didn’t know I was pregnant with you when Ben’s master came back for him and he went back. I was seventeen when I had you. I couldn’t let anybody know that you were mine.”

Korkie looked rather shell-shocked after this explanation. “I’m fourteen. You were only two years older than I am now when you married him.”

“Yes, that’s right. We were young, and I was orphaned so I didn’t have anyone else to protect me or love me. Aunt Bo and I weren’t close at that time, either.”

“And now we’re staying with my Kenobi grandparents. Do they know? Does my father know?”

“Your father doesn’t know. Your grandmother could tell just by looking at you. Your sister is Force-sensitive so your grandmother felt her, she said she feels just like your father did at that age. This is a good thing, this way we blend into the Kenobi family and can stay hidden.”

* * *

When Darth Maul arrived on Mandalore, there was no sign of the Duchess and nobody knew where she was, no matter how much he threatened them. This was so frustrating. Someone had tipped her off. Perhaps Jango Fett had betrayed him. That or Kenobi had used his magic Jedi powers to read Maul’s mind. But that was impossible. The man was a drunk.

Darth Maul locked himself into the fresher. Having a mechanical lower half he did not actually need a fresher, but he did need privacy. He pulled an arm out of his sleeve, tied a cloth band tightly around his upper arm, and injected spice. His tattoos would hide the needle tracks. He felt his pain, grief, and regret melt away, leaving only his fear and anger. These made him stronger; he was doing himself a favor. He closed his eyes and smiled as he imagined slicing Kenobi into little pieces, first a hand or an arm, then part of his leg, his manhood, more of his leg, then finally his head. He would make that man suffer, make his blood run red as his lightsaber, redder than Kenobi’s hair or Maul’s own skin.

The only thing he really wanted on Mandalore was to kill the Duchess, preferably with Kenobi there to witness, but with neither of them present he had no choice but to rethink his strategy. He thought of the other person he wanted to get revenge on: his master. It was no secret that his master was looking for a new and better apprentice, preferably someone with legs. How could he kill his master? He had not actually heard the tale of Darth Plagueis the Wise.


	19. Delirium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan sinks lower and lower: poor Garen. But Jango Fett is maybe not such a bad person. Master Dooku is not ready to retire.

Jango Fett was not getting anywhere with his negotiations with Poggle the Lesser. Perhaps the protocol droid interpreting for them was badly programmed. The hideous leader would not budge on his doubts about accepting spice money for the droid army. This was not because he was a man—or, rather, insect—of integrity or virtue, but because he was afraid of the Hutts and could not convince the Banking Clan to invest in such a shady deal.

He missed his son, too, although he was loath to admit it. Little Boba was six years old now. The boy, being a clone of his father, had no mother, after all. It was remarkable how a clone of himself was a different individual even at that young age. Jango Fett wondered what kind of galaxy the boy would face when he grew up, and if he were doing his part to shape it. In some ways Maul reminded him of what his son might become if he lost his father. He did not know the Zabrak man well, but he had seen the fear in his eyes, although Maul did his best to hide it with anger. The man had lost the lower half of his body to Kenobi’s lightsaber and had obviously grown up in an abusive environment. That was not Kenobi’s fault, but then, he did say there were several people he wanted revenge on. Perhaps abusive parental figures were among them. He was clearly on spice, too, not just deathsticks. It was hard to blame him, given his physical pain.

Something did not add up. He had lent his genes to the Trade Federation for their clone army, which was nominally designed to protect corporate interests from the Hutts and pirates in the Outer Rim, but surely a clone army was overkill. There was more to it than that, but Jango Fett had not asked questions. Now that he was a parent, he wondered if he was doing the right thing by creating two armies. What if they fought each other? Which side would he take? He couldn’t fight against the clone army, since they were all copies of himself, just like Boba. All he really wanted was a Mandalore that felt like Mandalore, without any of that whore’s distortions.

He remembered his initial interview with Nute Gunray with a shudder. The Neimoidian viceroy was not a pleasant individual, but he had not seemed very bright, either. Surely there was someone else with more brains behind the operation. Whoever that person was, he or she could not be a very nice person either.

* * *

Darth Sidious sat in his office, checking his supply of booze. Kenobi was due for another visit soon. It had proved harder than expected to isolate the man and his apprentice, but according to Darth Maul’s report last year, Kenobi was frequenting seedy bars on Coruscant and drinking utoz by the gallon. Merisee had been a good choice of mission a few years ago, because utoz was efficient. It was all right for Kenobi to sniff around Darth Maul’s dirtiness, since the spice business was a useful decoy anyway. Even if he did find something beyond that, his reputation as a drunk, coupled with the nightmare visions carefully planted in his head to keep him drinking, would ensure that the Jedi would not take him seriously and might even expel him. When that happened, he could be turned. It would be a simple matter of convincing him that he was the Chosen One all along; the odd mix of inferiority and grandiosity that was the hallmark of the alcoholic would help. The boy would follow him, especially since he had been engineered to have excessive anger.

Neither were much of a threat to Darth Sidious’ plan to orchestrate the lead up to a meaningless war that would allow him to claim emergency powers. The Trade Federation and the various gangsters would destroy each other, paving the way for the Sith Empire. As Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, Darth Sidious was in a position to receive all kinds of details about internal Jedi business. By the same token, he could also expose Kenobi’s addiction to the Council, forcing them to do something about it. Of course they had to be aware that there was something wrong with Kenobi, but the little green troll would lead them in studiously ignoring it. None of them would notice anything until it was too late, when everything converged on Tatooine.

* * *

Queen Amidala was convinced that there was something wrong in the Senate. Not only had the Trade Federation made a comeback under Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, but the food crisis in the outermost planets of the Republic seemed to be getting worse, while spice addiction was spreading. She had trusted Senator Palpatine to put an end to Trade Federation machinations, which was why she had moved to remove Chancellor Vallorum. Chancellor Palpatine had not actually improved anything, for all his air of competence and big promises. Sometimes she thought he might actually be in league with the Trade Federation to drive Outer Rim planets into the arms of the Hutts. She had learned her lesson that just because someone was also from Naboo did not mean he or she was trustworthy. She would warn the new queen slated to take over next year when her second term ended.

She was beginning to look forward to retirement. Maybe she could visit Coruscant and look up Obi-Wan Kenobi and little Ani. As Jedi they would be based in the Temple. She had not seen either of them for six years now. Force, little Ani was surely not little anymore; he must be about fifteen by now. She wondered about his mother as well. Shmi Skywalker was a remarkable woman, strong, quietly dignified, loving, and generous. She was just the kind of woman Padme Naberrie wanted to be. Perhaps she would find love once she retired.

* * *

Anakin Skywalker was not a good patient. Vokara Che loved him for it, since a good challenge was always welcome. This time, he had come down with some terrible primitive fever that was going around among the junior padawans; most of them, having been brought up in the Temple, had been inoculated as crechelings and got off lightly, but Anakin had had no medical records of any kind at the time of his arrival at the Temple and had been too old for many of the vaccines designed for toddlers. He was rather seriously racked up this time, but there was no real danger to his life. No, his biggest problem was boredom.

When he was injured and brought in as a younger boy, his master would stay by his side for hours and even days, barely even going to the fresher, especially when he was an unusually young padawan, but now that he was fifteen his master seemed to be giving him more space. At least, that was what Vokara hoped.

The other patients included a ten-year-old Togruta girl who, like Anakin, hated the Halls of Healing with a passion, and Master Dooku. The latter refused to admit that he was now sixty-six, continuing to volunteer for missions more strenuous than overseeing elections and picking up Force-sensitive babies for the creche. He was currently riddled with holes from a blaster, although he had foiled his opponents regardless. The man was certainly determined, just like his entire lineage. Master Dooku was unaware of his great-grandpadawan’s presence, since he was in a bacta tank.

For his part, Obi-Wan was worried about his padawan. So much so, in fact, that he was lying unconscious in the fresher of his apartment, having emptied all of his bottles. He merely meant to fortify himself, to take the edge off, although he quickly changed his plan to preloading at home before hitting the Outlander Club. It cost a lot of credits to drink enough utoz to feel any effects, and Obi-Wan did not want to burn through his budget too quickly, lest his spending habits come under scrutiny. It was cheaper to drink at home before going out, although it could get rather tricky to remember to go out after all.

He would not remember where his various bruises came from, but he had tripped over the living room table, stumbled into Anakin’s room by mistake, where he had stubbed his toe on a random droid part, and ended by colliding with the fresher doorknob. He was lucky that it had not come into contact with his eye socket, or he would have had a black eye to explain. As long as Anakin did not see him shirtless he could hide the evidence of his clumsiness. He was almost as clumsy as Jar-Jar Binks these days, and that was saying a lot, since Jar-Jar had been exiled for it.

As long as he was unconscious, he wouldn’t have nightmares. Anakin, however, woke up repeatedly with visions of Krayt dragons smashing Watto’s shop. Each time he woke up he would remember that his mother no longer belonged to Watto but had a new family on a moisture farm. Later he started having nightmares about encountering a million Queens of Naboo and not being able to tell which one was Padme. He knew she had decoys for security purposes but it was still unsettling. His next batch of nightmares were about his master getting drunk as usual, mistaking his lightsaber for clippers, and burning his own head off by mistake. There was little doubt that his master was very drunk right now, but he had just recently gotten his hair cut again, so he shouldn’t actually be doing that, Anakin reassured himself.

At first light, Master Dooku began to wake up. Ugh, the bacta tank. This was so undignified. Yan Dooku was missing his regular meeting. Even on a mission, he always participated by holo if it was at all possible. Those meetings kept him sane and grounded. He glanced around the room with his eyes still unfocused and noticed that there were two other patients, both apparently juveniles. There was something familiar about the male presence. This was someone he knew. As his eyes slowly focused on the supine form, he recognized Anakin. He had not seen either Anakin or Obi-Wan for a long time. The fact that the boy was here without his master was not a good sign.

At about the same time as Master Dooku, Obi-Wan began to stir as well. He could not lift his head and his whole body ached, but he had no idea why. Force, he had no memory at all of how he ended up on the fresher floor. He must hide the empty bottles before Anakin wakes up. He tried to use the Force to lift himself up into a sitting position, but he found he could not access the Force at all. He would have to wait until he sobered up a bit.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Obi-Wan managed to lift himself up off the floor. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. He crawled on all fours through the apartment, checking every hiding place, but found no more alcohol anywhere. This was most unsettling. Garen. Garen was currently on a mission and had given Anakin the code number to enter his apartment to water his plant. Garen never used to have plants, but lately he did, although he limited himself to just one, unlike Qui-Gon. Garen had cooking sherry. Obi-Wan crawled into his own kitchen first but found only a trace amount of cooking sherry. He opened the bottle and drank what was left. He almost spit it out—it was salty. But any alcohol was better than none. Maybe Garen had more. He only needed enough to tide him over until he could get presentable enough to go into the lower levels of Coruscant to buy himself a fresh supply of booze.

He staggered through the hallway in his sleep clothes to Garen’s apartment, clutching a flimsi he found in Anakin’s room. This was Garen’s key code. The door opened and Obi-Wan entered. So far so good. He could always claim that he came to water the plant in Anakin’s place, since his padawan was obviously still stuck in the Halls of Healing. He watered the plant first, before he could forget. Then he staggered back into Garen’s kitchen. The cooking sherry! Where was it? Why was it gone? How could Garen have failed to replace it after he ran out?

Obi-Wan looked around the kitchen again for any other alcohol. He knew that Garen was not teetotal, since they had both gotten drunk at knighting parties as senior padawans. It was Garen who spiked Obi-Wan’s drink that first time, after all. When did Garen grow out of drinking?

Aha, there it was. Obi-Wan discovered a bottle of clear rum that bore a tag reading, “Congratulations on your knighting, Knight Garen Muln! Warm Regards, Sheev Palpatine, Senator for Naboo.” Of all the dirty, rotten tricks! There was no close relationship between the chancellor and Garen, as far as Obi-Wan knew. Did every senior padawan receive a bottle from the Supreme Chancellor? But Obi-Wan had not received one, not like this. He did receive a bottle of whiskey at Qui-Gon’s funeral, but not a celebratory rum. He suddenly felt cheated, lied to, and jealous. He was just a pathetic lifeform after all, even to the Supreme Chancellor, who he thought was his friend.

Wait a minute. Although the bottle had been opened, Garen had not taken more than a shot or two from it, even though he had been a knight for eight or nine years now. He had been knighted a couple of years before Obi-Wan, the last of his crechemates to be knighted. Even then he had to lose his master and fight a Sith in order to overcome being a pathetic lifeform, when other padawans simply took their trials and became knights as a matter of course.

No use thinking about the past. Obi-Wan began to guzzle the rum straight from the bottle. He had not even brushed his teeth yet, but he did not care. He would brush them afterwards, right before he went to see Anakin. Before he knew it the rum was all gone, so he refilled the bottle with water and put it back. Thanks Garen.

Obi-Wan felt much more functional when he returned to his own apartment and prepared himself for the day. He decided to make his first shopping trip now, before going to see Anakin.

He resisted the temptation to open one of his new bottles on his way home. After he was satisfied with the hiding places, he set off to the Halls of Healing. Late morning was a slow, boring time, so he knew that Anakin would appreciate a visitor.

“Anakin, how are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asked. His hands were still not entirely steady but the shaking was not obvious. At least, he hoped he seemed normal. Obi-Wan did not notice Master Dooku in the bacta tank, watching.

It was about time his grandpadawan came to check up on his own apprentice. He seemed normal at first glance, but he looked much older than before, in an unhealthy way. His clothes were all right and he was keeping his hair neatly cropped, but this attention to grooming was merely an effort to mask what was obvious to one who knew what the signs were. It shouldn’t take a master healer of any species to know that humans from Stewjon with blue eyes and reddish hair should not have complexions that yellow. Surely Master Che would notice that.

Perhaps Obi-Wan was thinking the same thing; he did not stay very long, although he did suggest to Anakin that he ask about getting more inoculations after he recovered from this illness, since as a knight he would not be able to afford the risk of catching a childhood disease on a mission. Childhood diseases were often dangerous in adults, and it would be safer to take care of the risk in a controlled environment. Master Dooku realized that Anakin had never gotten any of the standard childhood vaccinations. There was some merit to Obi-Wan’s suggestions, although Master Dooku guessed his true motivation was to get Anakin out of the apartment at night so that Obi-Wan could binge-drink in peace.

Obi-Wan went on another shopping expedition after his visit to Anakin, then realized that it was lunchtime and he had not eaten. He knew that his weight was about the same, or only somewhat less, through the years even though he was definitely eating less. As long as he drank beer, it could be counted as bread in liquid form.

After a third shopping trip, Obi-Wan decided it was time to go see Anakin again. He would be in the mid-afternoon doldrums. Obi-Wan was proud of himself for remembering to buy no more than two big bottles at any one shop, lest the shopkeepers think he drank too much. Maybe he could go to the Outlander Club after visiting Anakin; it would be happy hour by then.

At that moment his comm started to beep. It was a good thing he wouldn’t sound too drunk yet. He picked it up and recognized the frequency.

“Hello, Mum.”

“Hey, Obi, how are things going? How’s Anakin?”

“Anakin’s on bed rest in the Halls of Healing—that’s our hospital—with a case of Dagoban fever.”

“Oh dear, sounds serious. But I thought that was a childhood disease. Isn’t he rather old for that? He’s almost taller than you.”

 _Thanks, Mum_. “He was never immunized as a young child.”

“Oh no! They don’t vaccinate you Jedi? What did I do to you? You’ll catch it too, won’t you?”

“No, I won’t. Even if I do it’ll be a light case because I was properly vaccinated for everything when I was a crecheling.”

“Then why didn’t they vaccinate Anakin?”

“He was born a slave on Tatooine and was already nine years old when he joined us. I don’t tell people about his origins very often because he hates the pitying looks he gets when people find out. Promise me you won’t treat him any differently.”

“Of course I won’t. He’s my grandchild, of a sort. Speaking of which, your wife is lovely. I like Satine. She blends into our family so well. I shouldn’t be surprised, really. Of course she does, she _is_ family.”

“Mum, how do you know Satine?”

“Didn’t you know? She’s been living with us for maybe eighty days or so now with her children. Your friend what’s-his-name brought her here because some bad man with red skin was going to kill her. I thought you knew.”

Obi-Wan’s mind was racing to make sense of all this new information. _I need a drink._ He opened one of the bottles under the kitchen table and took a swig. Ah, Corellian whiskey.

The bad man with red skin had to be Darth Maul. It dawned on Obi-Wan that he had shared his concerns with Quinlan Vos about a year ago; this must be the friend who delivered Satine to his mother’s house. What his mother said about Satine’s children bothered him. She must mean Korkie, although he could not imagine who the other children might be. Perhaps she had brought some children belonging to palace staff, since she had such a strong sense of duty to her people. But why? It seemed like his mother would know the children were not Satine’s, since she already knew Satine well enough to know that she was his wife.

“Children? You mean her nephew, Korkie?”

“Korkie and Deltine. You didn’t think you could fool your mum, did you? Those children look just like you, they’re certainly not nephews or random orphans. Korkie knows you’re his father. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Obi-Wan felt the blood drain from his face. He took another hefty swig of his whiskey. Satine had never told him that Korkie was his, or that she had had any other children by him or anyone else.

“How old is Deltine, or whatever you said her name was?”

“She’s almost two. You mean, you still didn’t know they were yours? I thought I told Satine that she ought to tell you, especially since Deltine is Force-sensitive. She acts like you did at her age.”

The timing was about right. If Satine had gotten pregnant that night in the garden on Mandalore, the resulting child would be about two years old now. Kriff. He was a Jedi, he wasn’t supposed to have a wife at all, let alone any offspring. How did he have two children, one Force-sensitive, and not even know about it? What else were people hiding from him?

Poor Korkie had reached the age of fourteen, robbed of having a father. Obi-Wan felt righteous anger both for the fatherless boy who had only had his mother, and for himself, having missed his son’s entire childhood. On the other hand, what else could Satine have done? Given the boy’s age, he must have been conceived when Obi-Wan was a sixteen-year-old padawan who was in no position to bring up a child. If he had known, he would have left the Order, which was of course exactly why Satine never told him, robbing him of the chance to make his own decisions regarding his children.

Force-sensitive children belonged at the Temple. Look how much Anakin had suffered from not coming to the Temple as a crecheling. On the other hand, neither Stewjon nor Mandalore were Tatooine. His daughter would be safe and properly provided for on either of their homeworlds. Besides, when her blood test results came back with not just her midichlorian count but DNA that matched his, he would be found out. Unless he could pass her off as his niece; that might work. No, Satine was Mandalorian and Mandalorians never gave their children up to become Jedi. Then again, Satine had passed Korkie off as her nephew because she wasn’t supposed to be a mother. Perhaps she would find it expedient to put their daughter in Jedi care, where he would have access to the child. Perhaps she could become his second padawan after Anakin was knighted. Oh yes, poor Anakin.

After ending the call, Obi-Wan drank the rest of the bottle, brushed his teeth again, and went back to the Halls of Healing to see Anakin. Korkie Kenobi. The name swirled around in his head as he walked through the halls and into Anakin’s sickroom, which was the bacta tank room. Anakin’s bed was visible from the tank, although Obi-Wan paid no attention to the occupant of the tank. He also failed to shield his emotions adequately, although this was more because of the news he had just received than because of his drinking. He had not really gotten started yet for the day.

Both Anakin and Master Dooku could feel the complicated cocktail of joy, confusion, pride, anger, wonder, and fear coming from Obi-Wan. Neither had any idea what had happened in the last couple of hours, but whatever it was, it was decidedly private in nature.

“Master, Master Muln’s plant.” Anakin struggled to get the words out of his parched throat.

“I watered it this morning for you. I hope you don’t mind that I found the flimsi in your room with the number on it. When does Garen get back?”

“Today. I wanted to meet him at the spaceport. Can you meet him for me?”

That put a lid on Obi-Wan’s plans to go to the Outlander Club that night. He didn’t dare drink with Garen, who clearly didn’t drink much anymore and thought Obi-Wan’s drinking was problematic.

“All right.”


	20. The Outlander Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maul's legs! Obi-Wan adopts his habit of slicing off arms in bars. Garen's trials continue as the long-suffering best friend.

When Obi-Wan arrived at the spaceport, there was a ship just landing. Garen came down the ramp and waved when he spotted his old friend. He and Obi-Wan had not been that close for a long time. Surely Anakin was behind this.

“Welcome back. Anakin sent me. He’s stuck in the Halls of Healing with Dagoban fever. You know how he never got his shots as a crecheling.”

Garen frowned for a moment before smiling at Obi-Wan again. “I hope he gets better soon. That’s a bummer. And Obi, I wouldn’t get too close to me if I were you. Maybe your hair is short enough for you not to worry, but I picked up a bad case of head lice on Kashyyyk.” Garen scratched his scalp, pushing aside thick, luxuriant dark brown shoulder-length hair to do it.

Obi-Wan laughed. “Time for you to join me in wearing a grownup’s cut, I suppose. Come on, you’ve had that mop long enough. Qui-Gon was _my_ master, not yours.”

Obi-Wan considered taking Garen home with him to clipper all his hair off himself, but realized that he didn’t want to spread the lice to Anakin or himself that way. Besides, if he botched it Garen would accuse him of being drunk, which was not entirely untrue. Garen might snoop around and uncover all the newly-hidden bottles in Obi-Wan’s apartment. Better to take Garen to a professional.

“You’re just jealous of my glorious mane, aren’t you?” Garen decided to play along with the game of pretending they were still as close as they once were. Obi-Wan was acting aggressively normal again, which meant that he had been drinking. He was not as clever at hiding it as he probably thought he was, especially if one knew him and his tells well enough.

“I had my go at long, shaggy hair. I don’t take fashion advice from Quin as a rule, but the man was right about my hair. When Quin and Master Dooku agree on fashion, it’s got to be true.”

Garen laughed as he allowed himself to be led into the surprisingly luxurious barbershop, glad that he had not had to argue about flying a speeder while under the influence of alcohol.

“This is one of my oldest friends, Garen Muln. He got a bad case of lice on a mission, so here’s our chance to shear him.” Obi-Wan was enjoying this the way he would have when they were still teenagers. Garen remembered when his friend was just as much a rebel as his master, with the incidents on Melida/Daan, Mandalore, even Bandomeer, for that matter, before rule-abiding model senior padawan Obi emerged, before young-but-responsible knight Obi or devoted master Obi. Somewhere along the line things had gone completely wrong, but even Garen didn’t know where, despite having been there. Glimmers of the real Obi shone through occasionally, like right now.

“Lice? We can get rid of lice.” The hairdresser maintained a professional air.

“Let’s get rid of his mop, too.” There was mischief in Obi-Wan’s eyes. Garen nodded his assent, knowing that Obi-Wan would not give up. He was stubborn, like everyone else in his lineage, and he had been drinking.

“How is your grandfather, or whatever he is?” The hairdresser addressed Obi-Wan as she applied the anti-lice treatment to Garen’s head.

“I haven’t seen him for a while. I think he’s been away on a mission.”

“I see. He’s quite active for his age, isn’t he? I don’t know exactly how old he is but he must be in his sixties.” She was running her hands through Garen’s hair by now, assessing texture and presumably lice. “If the goal is to make your hair less cozy for lice, I assume we’re cutting it short. Correct?”

Both men nodded. Satisfied, the woman picked up her scissors and began hacking off length. It occurred to Garen that Master Dooku must have sent Obi-Wan here initially. He still had not actually met the old master. As the woman switched to clippers, Garen was transported to when they were both padawans. He did not need to be told to touch his chin to his chest as soon as he heard the mechanical whine. Garen thought back on the time he had added rum to Obi-Wan’s juice for the first time at that knighting party all those years ago. Maybe he was responsible.

No, Obi-Wan was a grown man. He was accountable for his own actions. Garen let the woman’s gentle hand push his head to the left and then the right as she buzzed up and over around his ears. What was pushing Obi-Wan to drink? He had seemed happy with Anakin, at least at first. There was nothing wrong with the boy.

Obi-Wan had always been rather insecure, at least since he failed to be chosen as a padawan, thought Garen as he watched the woman crop the top of his hair short enough to stand up. Obi-Wan had been happy, reasonably confident without being cocky, and fairly well-liked as a crecheling. Then Bandomeer happened.

“All done with the cut. I’ll apply another round of the lice treatment before I let you go.”

With his new crewcut Garen looked remarkably like Jango Fett, at least he did to Obi-Wan’s intoxicated eye. Watching his friend get his hair cut off reminded him of being the only one among his friend group not to have a padawan haircut, and the only one still with a padawan braid at twenty-five. He was always last choice.

Garen accompanied Obi-Wan to the Halls of Healing to see Anakin. Anakin was feeling well enough to sit up. It was at this point that Anakin noticed Master Dooku in the bacta tank. He smiled and waved, so Master Dooku smiled back. Obi-Wan finally noticed his grand-master as well. “Garen, that’s Master Dooku in the bacta tank. I think he would have preferred to meet you with his clothes on, but, oh well.”

Garen’s eyes took in the white-haired man suspended in the tank. So this was Master Dooku. He had seen him in the refectory and the dojo without knowing who he was. It was good to know.

Anakin’s eyes grew wide when he recognized Garen. He certainly did not look like a padawan even with a crewcut, but he also did not look like the Garen he knew. Garen met his eyes and ran his hand over his hair. He said, simply, “I made the mistake of telling your master that I had head lice.”

Anakin laughed. “I’m glad it’s no worse than that. This is no fun at all. Maybe when Master Dooku comes out of bacta it’ll be better.”

Garen nodded at Master Dooku as well when he excused himself to his quarters. He suddenly felt tired and sat down on his living room sofa. That was when he sensed something amiss. He knew Anakin and Obi-Wan had been in his apartment to water his plant, but that was authorized. No, something else unauthorized had happened. Garen’s eyes drifted toward his kitchen and he remembered a conversation he had had with Obi-Wan a few years ago about cooking sherry. He didn’t have any right now, but he did still have a bottle of rum from the Supreme Chancellor. Garen had tasted it, found he didn’t particularly like it, and left it in a cabinet. Had Obi-Wan found it? Garen got up, dug up the bottle, and examined it. There seemed to be roughly the same amount as before, but something felt off. He opened the top and sniffed. Water. The rum had been replaced with water.

Obi-Wan returned to his room and drank some more Corellian whiskey. Satine never told him about his children. She was supposed to be his wife, she had pledged to love him, and yet she had not been honest with him.

He set off for the Outlander Club and immediately spotted the blonde Zabrak woman. He chugged his drinks in silence until she noticed him. “Hey, do I get a kiss this time or just a song?”

“Would you accept a song?”

“Of course. I haven’t seen your friends for a while.”

Apparently it was true that Darth Maul had gone to Mandalore and was not on Coruscant. Now Garen looked like Jango Fett but this woman would not know that. Garen was his friend while these others were actually his enemies. Or, maybe not. Maybe Garen wasn’t really his friend either. It was hard to tell.

Obi-Wan sang a variety of songs for the woman, then realized that he did not even know her name. It did not matter. He started to get confused after less than his usual amount, but he attributed this to the shock of his mother’s revelations. When the blonde Zabrak woman started looking more and more like Satine, he realized it was time to go home before he kissed her or did something else regrettable.

Just one more drink. Obi-Wan began to throw up into his glass, but it was just alcohol, so he re-drank it. He couldn’t let good booze go to waste.

Obi-Wan was most of the way home when Darth Maul came into the Outlander Club. He smiled when he saw Womba. He could use some spice, some deathsticks, maybe even a kiss.

“Hello handsome, your friend was just here. He seemed sad but he did sing for me, even though he wouldn’t kiss me.”

Friend? Darth Maul had never had a friend in his entire life. Who was she talking about? Then it dawned on him. Kenobi. He had just missed him. It was good that he was sad, and that he didn’t kiss Womba, not that Darth Maul wished to date her. He had no idea that Kenobi was a competent singer. On the other hand, it was less surprising that he had attracted a Mandalorian Duchess if he was musically talented. Darth Maul did not know any songs whatsoever. That was yet another unfair advantage enjoyed by that infuriating Jedi.

“Do you sing, too?” Womba had her arms around Darth Maul’s powerful bicep. What was it with women and their insistence that men serenade them? Womba moved one of her arms to cradle his back, then nestled her face into the nape of his neck. He felt her hot, deathstick-tainted breath on his red skin. If only he still had his lower half. He would put Kenobi to shame, that was for sure.

“No. I don’t know any songs.”

“Would you learn some, for me? I bet you’d have a nice voice. A clear, high tenor is rare in a man of your build.”

He considered telling her that he would have been a baritone still were it not for that blasted Kenobi and his kriffing lightsaber, but he thought better of it. Then it dawned on him. What he needed was a deathstick at the very least, more likely a nice hit of spice. He rolled up one sleeve to show her the needle tracks. “You have any spice?”

“Sure, darling.” She led him to a corner of the room, in the shadow of the holoequipment broadcasting the game onto the wall. They would not be seen here, at least not at this early hour. After they both shot up spice, she began kissing him passionately, fumbling with his tunic. She was going to plant kisses and bites all along his red chest.

He suddenly saw a flashback to when he was still a young boy, chained to the wall after his master had taken over his upbringing. He had been allowed to spend days and weeks designing the patterns to be added to the existing tattoos on his red skin, but had not considered that his master would try to make the process as painful as possible. It was normal for a Dathomirian Zabrak man to be covered in tattoos, but they had customs and practices in place to make the process fairly organized and civilized, not savage and brutal the way his master did it. Chest, back, arms, legs, neck, face, bare scalp, everything was covered. He saw Kenobi out of the corner of his eye, his lightsaber appearing by turns as a tattoo needle and as a microphone, as he filled the air with ghoulish shrieks that Womba mistook for singing.

Darth Maul shook his head. This was merely a spice-induced hallucination. She must have bought an inferior batch; he was just having a bad trip. Kenobi appeared again, this time with the facial markings of Darth Maul’s brother, Savage, as he held a baby in one arm and patted a pregnant belly with the other. He had spawned. No, this better not be true. One Kenobi in the galaxy was already one too many. Besides, male humans could not get pregnant. Their bodies were not that different from male Zabraks. Kenobi knew it would hurt when he cut Darth Maul in half; he had meant to kill, not maim. He had betrayed Darth Maul by attacking him after Darth Maul kindly did him the favor of killing his master so that he could rule Naboo or wherever, despite being a pathetic lifeform, even by his own admission.

His next vision was truly horrible. Darth Maul saw row upon row of troopers in white Mandalorian armor, maybe a million or more of them, waiting to take orders from his master. This in itself was not terrible, until an order was given and all of the soldiers removed their helmets at once. There were a million clones of Kenobi, all grinning at him, ready to strike with their green lightsabers, a sea of copper-colored heads bowed before Darth Maul’s master, ready to replace him.

* * *

Obi-Wan staggered through the dormitory section of the Jedi Temple, trying to find his room. He had lived in that apartment for almost twenty years, first as a padawan, then as a knight, but somehow it was eluding him. He did not know the codes to enter any of the other apartments, which saved him some embarrassment, but it was not until he noticed the name plates next to the doors that he started to make any headway. He passed Garen’s room and had a feeling that Jango Fett was inside. That was ridiculous, but Garen now looked somewhat like the Mandalorian, from a distance and in the dark, at least in Obi-Wan’s drunken state.

When he finally did find his apartment, he first tried to crawl into Anakin’s room before he tripped on the droid parts strewn like an obstacle course over the floor and fell with a thud onto the headboard of Anakin’s bed, knocking the wind out of himself. Seeing both himself and Garen with short hair had perhaps reminded him of his padawan days, luring him to his old room, which of course was now Anakin’s. Anakin was not a small boy anymore; how did he fit into his bed, with all that mess piled onto it? There was nothing for it but to crawl back to his own room and have nightmares about Jango Fett and Darth Maul.

Meanwhile, Garen had returned to the Halls of Healing to see Anakin one more time before the end of the day. Anakin was feeling better even than he was in the afternoon, while Master Dooku was finally out of bacta. “Ah, Muln. Skywalker will be well enough to send home tomorrow, unless of course he and his master decide to start vaccinating him for everything all at once, just for fun. Why a knight-padawan pair who hate medical attention as much as they do would think that up is beyond me, but there you have it. The worst of it is that they’re right, from a certain point of view.” Master Che tossed her lekku casually over her shoulder, but Garen knew she was more concerned than she cared to admit.

When she left the room to minister to other patients, Garen decided he should introduce himself properly to Master Dooku. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Master Dooku. I’ve known Obi-Wan since the creche. I wanted to meet you and talk to you about my concerns regarding Obi someday, at the appropriate time and place. Those of us who’ve known him from the time he was first brought to the Temple are worried.”

“Yes, I agree. He has changed, and not for the better. I can see that he is deliberately avoiding Master Che and trying to get Anakin out of the house at night. Some years ago I found him unconscious at the Outlander Club. I don’t think the bartender recognized me, but I knew that place because only a limited number of establishments cater to Jedi. But he has to want recovery himself. Even then the path is not assured. When he gets sick and tired of being sick and tired, he should know that there is a group of Jedi and Temple staff who have experienced the same thing and meet regularly. I should know, I was one of the members who started that chapter of the group.”

Garen’s eyes grew wide. Master Dooku? Of all people, he seemed the least likely to have ever been in Obi-Wan’s current predicament. Obi-Wan should really stop avoiding him then, since the old master was surprisingly the least likely to judge him and most likely to understand instead. Suddenly Master Jinn’s testy relationship with Master Dooku made more sense. Oh no. What if something similar happened between Obi-Wan and Anakin?

“Usually there is some incident that causes the sufferer to have an awakening of sorts. We call this the rock bottom. Mine is irrelevant right now, but it seems to me that Obi-Wan has not had his yet. Not everyone has one, of course. But I hope for his sake that his rock bottom incident does not involve a lightsaber.” Master Dooku shuddered at some private memory.

“I feel better about him already. Thank you so much. We must keep in touch.” Garen saw that Anakin’s tests were just about done. Really it should have been Obi-Wan here with Anakin. Judging by Master Dooku’s experience, he was either at the Outlander Club now, or had been there today and was now passed out at home.

Over the next half-year or so Obi-Wan and Anakin actually did implement their plan of inoculating Anakin for just about anything they could think of, even though this necessitated spending a lot of time in a place they both hated. The Council was frankly relieved that Obi-Wan himself had created a reasonable, respectable excuse not to send him on missions. Master Yoda’s ears drooped whenever anyone mentioned Obi-Wan’s name. The young man had been so promising, but now he was a danger to himself and others, so the Halls of Healing were a good place for him. If only he would allow treatment for himself and not just his padawan.

* * *

Darth Maul came to Coruscant fairly often now, because he knew Kenobi lived there and he almost never heard of him going on missions anymore. He did not encounter him at the Outlander Club, although Womba certainly did sometimes. According to her Kenobi was in bad health and no longer so handsome. This in itself was good news, not that he cared about his enemy’s looks. Any setback for Kenobi was a boon to Darth Maul. Truth be told, if Kenobi had been in top fighting form, Darth Maul would be in big trouble, since he was much thinner and weaker than he used to be, and prone to scary visions and convulsions if he went too long without a hit of spice. He also knew he needed to find another establishment besides the Outlander Club, so that he would not get so many pitying looks from other patrons who recognized him. He really had to diversify if he wanted to avoid the impression that he lived in rough bars.

Darth Maul wandered into a seedy-looking diner run by a shady old Besalisk. The man had four arms and rows of sharp teeth, which he used to greet people with hugs and grins. As soon as he saw Darth Maul’s red skin and black tattoos, he smiled. “Hey, I’ve seen that pattern before, son. There’s a pair of red and black organic legs attached to a robot top. This contraption works in the kitchen. You want to have a look, son, to see if those legs are related to you?”

When Darth Maul followed him into the kitchen, he was astonished to find his original legs attached to a dishwashing droid. “Yes, these are my legs. Now what do I do with them?”

“Take them home with you if they’re yours. You might find a good surgeon to re-attach them. If not, they still might be useful for something.”

* * *

The next time Garen saw Obi-Wan was again when Anakin was in the Halls of Healing with some artificially-induced illness or other. He almost did not recognize him because he had gotten so thin. Even though alcohol had a lot of calories, when it was a person’s main calorie source the result was apparently weight loss. No matter how gaunt he got or how bad his complexion and undereye circles, Obi-Wan still managed to maintain crisp standards of grooming, perhaps holding on to his neat clothes and tidy hair as a cloak of normalcy. It was Obi-Wan who was actually ill. His hands shook as he pulled blankets over Anakin.

“Hello Gar, you’re back. See, I told you you’d keep the haircut. You survived whatever it was.” Obi-Wan was slurring his words a bit, although he did keep his speech in Galactic Basic. Garen knew from the knighting parties when they were senior padawans that Obi-Wan sometimes slipped into Mando’a when he was drunk. Garen had always suspected that something of great emotional significance for his friend had happened there, beyond the actual mission.

Obi-Wan tended to drink at home most of the time now, since it was cheaper and the logistics were easier, but he did still go to the Outlander Club sometimes. When he did, he tended to go early, at happy hour. That Zabrak woman seemed less intent on getting him to kiss her these days, which suited him fine. On this occasion he also noted an Aqualish man with two huge, round black eyes, tusks, and a furry beard. This man had a blaster at his waist and seemed to be eyeing the Zabrak woman. Even though Obi-Wan did not really consider her a friend and had never bothered to ask her name, he still did not want anything truly bad to happen to her.

The Aqualish man moved closer to the Zabrak woman and began to reach for the waistband of her short skirt. It was clear that he intended to stick his hand down there and feel her backside, maybe reel her in for some more action. If she didn’t mind the attention it was not Obi-Wan’s place to intrude, but he could feel the Force warning him about this individual.

“You’re Maul’s little whore, aren’t you? Who does he think he is, cutting in on the spice business. He needs to bugger off back to Dathomir or face my blaster. My boss doesn’t take kindly to competition. You’re wasting your time with him, he doesn’t have what you want in a boyfriend anyway. I’ll tell you what you can do, you can suck mine and quit trying to cut in on my business.”

The Zabrak woman was struggling now. She was not quite screaming yet, but Obi-Wan could feel it coming. The Aqualish man perhaps worked for the Hutts or one of the many bands of space pirates. Obi-Wan watched him molest the woman for a little while until he started to feel sick to his stomach. He would certainly not stand by and watch if someone were to do this to Satine, his mother, little Deltine, or even Alema, for that matter. Bant could handle herself, as could Asajj and Siri, but even then he did not like to think about them experiencing something like this. He had a flashback to that thoroughly unpleasant mission some years ago in which the Devaronian president and her cabinet had felt free to treat him like this. No, this was completely unacceptable behavior and he would not stand for it.

The Aqualish man was apparently not Force-sensitive, because he did not notice Obi-Wan approaching. Or perhaps he did but dismissed him as a sickly, emaciated drunk who was no threat to anyone but himself. It did not matter in this moment. Obi-Wan drew closer, then ignited his lightsaber, cutting off the offending arm. The man began screaming when he realized what had happened, but by then Obi-Wan had slipped out of the Club, leaving the woman to kick her weakened attacker.

* * *

Master Dooku had just returned from a fairly easy mission when he decided to take a look in the dojo to see if Anakin was there. Surely the boy was doing better by now. The more time spent with healthy adults away from his master the better. Master Dooku shook his head at the memory of some of the things he said and did, and others he failed to say and do, while Qui-Gon was a boy.

He found Anakin and Alema sparring in one of the training salles with Asajj Ventress coaching both of them. There was no sign of Obi-Wan anywhere, which was worrying but not surprising. When she felt his familiar presence, Asajj looked up and smiled. “Hello, Padawan,” Master Dooku sent through the thin line that remained of their old training bond. “It looks like you’re training two padawans instead of one.”

When she was satisfied that the two teenagers had understood her pointers, she left them to practice some more and joined Master Dooku. “It’s good to see you no longer riddled with holes from a blaster. So uncivilized.”

“How did you know about that?”

“I can always tell when you’re in bacta, Master. I also felt a slight frisson when you took the blaster shots. Anyway, I’m glad to see you.”

“Where is Obi-Wan? I hoped he would be here with Anakin, or else that the two of them would be together in the Halls of Healing.”

“They do spend a lot of time there, but really it’s not Anakin who needs a healer. Have you seen Obi-Wan? He looks terrible. Always shaking and bleary-eyed. If he ever does something to hurt Anakin in any way, I’ll make him pay for it, no matter how pretty he is, or rather, was.”

Master Dooku cocked an eyebrow. Was he really so old and out of it that he had failed to notice that Asajj Ventress had a crush on his grandpadawan, at least before it became apparent that he was a drunk? “I saw him when I was in bacta. I would not describe him as pretty. I agree that he needs medical help, although he was very clever in avoiding Master Che. Stubborn gundark.”

Obi-Wan was in his bedroom, still trying to quell the shaking of his hands enough to finish getting dressed. He noticed his comm beeping, so he reached for it and answered it, trying to sound as normal as he could. “Kenobi.”

“Hello. Your mother gave me your personal comm.”

“Satine? My mother told me about the children. I understand why you had to keep their true identity hidden, but I’m a Jedi, I can keep secrets and use mental shielding. You could have told me. I haven’t even met Deltine.”

“Your mother told me all about your birth and infancy, the early signs of Force-sensitivity, and the reasons why she decided to give you up. I can also see that she trusts me more than she trusts you. That is unsettling. Usually a mother-in-law will always side with her son regardless of whether he is right or wrong. There’s something she’s not telling me about you.”

Obi-Wan sighed. He did not want his Satine to find out what kind of a mess he had become and was grateful to his birth family for keeping his shameful secret. He was a pathetic lifeform, and anyone who came into contact with him quickly figured this out—except Satine. He wanted to keep it this way.

“If Deltine is Force-sensitive I think she should be brought to the Temple. I can claim to be her uncle and keep an eye on her, maybe even take her as my padawan when the time comes. Anakin will be a knight by then. I won’t let anyone know that she’s my daughter.”

Now it was Satine’s turn to sigh. “I hate to give her up, but I can see your point. We’re thinking of going back to Mandalore. If Deltine is to be taken to the Temple, it would need to be while we’re still on Stewjon. I don’t need to tell you why.”

“If you just had Korkie it would be easier for you, too. My mother tells me he knows the truth. How did he take it?”

“He figured it out himself just by being surrounded by Kenobi men who looked just like him. Your father immediately identified him as his grandson, too. He seems to like being part of the Kenobi family, but he’s ambivalent about you. He knows it’s not your fault that you weren’t there for him, but I think he still had to grieve the father he could have had.”

“Have you measured his midichlorian count too, or just Deltine’s?”

“I did. He was only slightly Force-sensitive, not enough to become a Jedi. Deltine, on the other hand—she’s maybe not as powerful as Anakin, but more than powerful enough to be a Jedi. Do you want me to request the procedure?”

“Yes. I can’t very well walk up to Master Yoda and say, hey, please pick up my secret daughter for the creche.”

Satine chuckled. “All right, then. I love you, Ben. I hope that having your personal comm will make it easier for us to stay connected. I need to be able to talk to my husband, after all.”

After he ended the call, Obi-Wan opened up another bottle. His daughter, who was not supposed to exist, would be coming here. It was a good thing her midichlorian count had already been measured on Stewjon. That was the benefit of having relatives in the medical field. Speaking of medicine, he should go see Anakin. Obi-Wan tried to remember whether Anakin was in the Halls of Healing or living at home. Oh yeah, the training bond. He should use it to locate his apprentice. Obi-Wan tried to access the training bond, but found that he could not. He was too drunk and confused.

Of course, the dojo. Obi-Wan finally remembered that Anakin was in one of his brief spells of decent health and therefore training with someone in the dojo. Probably Alema, who was a senior padawan now. Asajj Ventress was doing a fine job with that girl. Having Anakin on bedrest for most of the time had been an unexpected boon to his studies, too, since he was forced to read his textbooks and do his classwork and not go bounding off with that high energy level of his. Sometimes Bant brought him extra holobooks from the Archives and even tutored him in some subjects. Obi-Wan had made the right decision in having the boy vaccinated for everything at this stage in his education when he needed to focus.


	21. Lifeday on Tatooine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything converges on Tatooine, as Darth Sidious put it. In my headcanon pallies taste like Taiwanese wax apples. Tatooine is where it all began and where Anakin's life shifts like the desert sand.

“Master Dooku. A mission we have for you. Pick up a Force-sensitive youngling you will. On Stewjon she is.” Master Yoda was smiling as he perked up his ears. It was no secret that he loved younglings.

“Very well. Who requested the pickup?”

“The grandmother of the girl. I thought the name sounded familiar, and looked her up. Sure enough it was the same woman who contacted us almost thirty years ago. The girl is a Kenobi, apparently the niece of Obi-Wan. The grandmother’s brother is a healer so they did the blood test themselves and sent us the midichlorian report. Her levels are close to Obi-Wan’s.” Master Koon radiated warmth as well.

Master Dooku smiled. Another Kenobi would be joining their community. It might be interesting to meet Obi-Wan’s birth family during the pickup mission.

When he arrived on Stewjon, he noted with dismay the dirty streets and once-grand buildings marred by graffiti, along with the sheer number of youths squatting outside the buildings, taking deathsticks. He remembered that Obi-Wan had been sent on a mission to investigate the deathstick epidemic. Asajj had told him about a Sith plot to addict everyone, along with the story of the young Sith warrior who had not actually been killed by Obi-Wan and was now trying to hurt him in whatever way he could. According to the report, the young Sith was on deathsticks and spice himself, and now too addled to continue with his nefariousness. This story made Master Dooku sad, since any waste of the potential of a sentient being was a tragedy, all the more so if the being was still young. He shuddered at the thought that he himself had once gotten dangerously close to turning dark, and at the life he once led.

Aha, here is the house. Master Dooku rang the doorbell and had to smile when a young man who looked just like Obi-Wan opened the door. His eyes and close-cropped hair were a different color from Obi-Wan’s, but this was clearly his brother. “Ah, Master Jedi, please come in. My mother will bring my daughter for your inspection. I’m Goro-Ban Kenobi. I have an older brother, Obi-Wan, who is a Jedi. Do you know him?”

“Know him? He is my grandpadawan. I suppose that is like a grandson in non-Jedi terms. The child is your daughter, you said? What about the girl’s mother?”

“She doesn’t have a mother. When Deltine was born I was on deathsticks, and my girlfriend took up the habit when our daughter was still little. My mother took us all in for Deltine’s sake. I got clean, but my girlfriend died of her addiction.” Goro-Ban told a well-rehearsed story that made perfect sense but felt a little too neat. It did not really matter to Master Dooku. The story would do just fine for his report, but it did not need to be true.

“I see. I’m glad you reclaimed your life. I know a thing or two about addiction from experience, and know it’s not easy.”

“Here she is, Master Jedi.” A woman only a little bit younger than Master Dooku himself brought in a small girl with blue eyes and red hair. She was unmistakably a Kenobi, by the looks of her. Master Dooku felt something a little odd when he held the child, a strong sense of déjà vu, but pushed it out of his mind for now. He would meditate on it later.

“And what is your name, little one?”

“Deltine Kenobi. Here are her medical records from her blood test. When I saw these numbers they reminded me of Obi-Wan’s, and I thought she should be properly evaluated like her uncle was.” Mrs. Kenobi supplied the information with the cool, practiced clinical manner of a healer’s aide. Master Dooku looked through the documents, saw nothing glaringly wrong, and looked again at the child, who was smiling and trying to reach his short white beard.

“Yes, you’re coming with me, little one. You’re going to be all right, you’ll be with your uncle.”

When they arrived at the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan and Anakin were there at the spaceport to meet them. As soon as he saw his daughter, Obi-Wan’s gaunt, sallow face broke out into a smile. She did look just like him, although with a hint of Satine as well, if you knew to look for it. Deltine smiled at Obi-Wan, her dimples matching his. She seemed to know that he was her father even though they had never met before. Master Dooku chuckled to see the girl so happy to see her “uncle.” At this rate she would fit in just fine at the Temple and adjust quickly.

* * *

When Anakin turned sixteen, Obi-Wan decided to take him to Tatooine to see his mother. Obi-Wan forgot to notify anyone of what was essentially a pleasure trip, but Anakin had told Alema in the salle shortly before they left, and she told her master, who spread the word.

Right after they left, with Anakin piloting, of course, a certain Kiffar Jedi and his Twi’lek apprentice met up at the Jedi Temple to discuss the movements of Maul and Fett with Obi-Wan, only to find him absent. “Where did he go?” Quinlan Vos asked Asajj Ventress, who happened to be near the spaceport when they arrived.

“They went to Tatooine on a pleasure trip, so that Anakin could see his mother again. It’s for his lifeday.”

“What in blazes is he doing that for!”

“Obi-Wan doesn’t make much sense these days, whether in speech or actions. I don’t think you would have been able to discuss much of anything with him. There is finally talk of reassigning Anakin. If they were going to do that, they should have done it a long time ago. It would be better for Anakin, but I have no doubt the heartbreak of that would kill Obi-Wan. It’s a sad case.”

Quinlan Vos had a sad feeling sink to the pit of his stomach. “Who else knows about our espionage, if Obi-Wan is indisposed?”

“Bant, Garen, Siri, and I know the main details. Oh, and feel free to involve Master Dooku, I’ve filled him in. Of course, you knew that.”

“That Jango Fett, he certainly did try to get a droid army on Geonosis. I have proof of that. I also have proof that he didn’t succeed. As for Darth Maul, he seems pretty spice-addled these days and not much of a threat. The Duchess could probably return to Mandalore if she wanted to, but there are two children in her care who have bonded to the Kenobi family. What doesn’t make sense is how come the same people are involved in the creation of both armies. It’s almost like they were commissioned by the same party at the top level. Perhaps the Sith master, since Maul is clearly the apprentice. Why the master let him get like this is beyond me.”

“You should ask our Council the same question. I really hope Anakin is flying the ship. There is no way Obi-Wan should be allowed to handle any kind of machinery. Even his own lightsaber should probably be taken away from him.”

* * *

This was a terrible idea, really, but Anakin appreciated the thought behind it. At least his master had not insisted on piloting the craft himself. He wouldn’t, because he wasn’t fond of flying, but there was no telling what kind of notions he might take into his head while drunk. He seemed to be drunk most of the time now, except when he was shaking and needed a drink. Anakin was not sure which was worse. Obi-Wan’s behavior and appearance seemed to deteriorate at an alarming rate. It would be tough to keep him safe on a rough planet like Tatooine. Even just the sand itself was dangerous, never mind the sun, Jawas, Sand People, Krayt dragons, and all the desperate characters who were either working for the Hutts or running from them.

To his credit, Obi-Wan did do his best to be alert when they landed. Anakin knew the best spot to land the ship to minimize having to walk through the desert to the Lars homestead. It had not taken much research to find the coordinates to the place, especially with Quinlan Vos’s help. It seemed prudent to land directly in the desert and not close to any of the towns, where there were desperadoes with blasters and lots of disreputable cantinas.

Anakin knocked on the door, and his mother herself answered. “Hello? This is a moisture farm. I swear we have done nothing wrong. We do not need Jedi presence here. We are just honest people—little Ani?”

“Mom. My master and I were passing through, and we thought we would stop by. I’m sixteen today.”

“It is you!” Shmi Skywalker drew her son into an awkward embrace. “And is that your master?” She noticed Obi-Wan leaning on the doorpost behind Anakin. “He should probably come inside. He looks unwell. Funny, I remembered him being much taller and having long, brown hair.”

“That was Master Qui-Gon Jinn. My master was his apprentice in those days. I don’t think you met him.”

Shmi Skywalker eyed Obi-Wan with more suspicion in her eyes at this information. If this was not the same person, and in fact was a younger person, then he was very unhealthy indeed. She began to feel a surge of indignation that the Jedi Order had taken the boy to be Qui-Gon’s apprentice, for which she had given her consent, only for a stranger to be given her first-born instead.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi. Nice to meet you. Anakin has told me so much about you over the years.” Obi-Wan tried his best to look friendly and not slur his speech too much. “I stayed on the ship when my master went looking for parts and met your son for the first time. This is my first time to actually experience Tatooine.”

Shmi Skywalker’s expression softened a bit. This man was at least not a stranger to Anakin, then, when he decided to go with Master Jinn. “May I ask how Master Qui-Gon is doing?”

 _Ouch_. Obi-Wan winced. “My master was murdered not too long after he took Anakin. His dying wish was for me to train him in his place. He cared deeply for your son, even though he didn’t know him for very long. I’ve been Anakin’s master now for seven years. I still miss Qui-Gon.”

Shmi looked at Obi-Wan with sorrow and pity in her eyes. _Oh great, now she’s noticed that I’m actually just a pathetic lifeform, much worse than Jar-Jar Binks ever was_. Jar-Jar was bumbling, but he was doing his best. Obi-Wan, however, was just pathetic. No mother in her right mind would want to give her precious first-born son up to the Jedi if she knew he would be assigned such a sorry excuse for a master.

“Who is that at the door? Shmi, I hope you’re not going to let in those strays?” A man’s voice could be heard coming from the recesses of the home.

“My son, Anakin. He’s here on a visit.”

“There isn’t any room for him here. Send him back. He already abandoned his mother once, what is he doing coming back here?” another male voice sniffed. “He’s not sharing my room, Mother.”

That must be the stepson. It was clear to Anakin that the youth felt threatened by his presence. There was nothing for him to worry about; Anakin was not planning on moving back to Tatooine, and certainly did not aspire to the life of a moisture farmer. It was good to see his mother content with her new life, but it was not a life that Anakin wanted for himself. He began to realize, with a sinking feeling, that he did not have much in common with his mother anymore.

“You’re a handsome boy, Ani. I can see that you’re too good for us now, with your fine clothes and impressive lightsaber. Your place is not here, son. When I gave you up, I told you we would see each other again because I thought you wouldn’t go otherwise. Half of me wanted you to choose to stay with me, even if I were a slave, but you chose to go. I’m glad you’ve become a grand Core-worlder, but don’t come back here. You made your choice, stick with it. Don’t be coming back around here to open up old wounds. My place is here, my family is here. You are no longer my family, you’re a Jedi. Now, go, both of you.” There were tears in her eyes, but her expression was stern. If Anakin knew anything about his mother, it was that she was a stubborn gundark of a woman. He wanted a hug, but knew he would not get one. The pain of being denied would be worse than the longing of never asking, so he nodded and turned to go, instinctively reaching for his master’s arm to lead him back.

Anakin got into the ship and was about to take off when he leaned back, slack, in the pilot’s seat. Some lifeday this was. His master barely said much of anything back there, and did not try to defend Anakin or his choices at all. Kriff. Anakin felt like smashing up the ship, but that would be stupid. It occurred to him that his master responded to frustration and disappointment like this in a certain way. Hey, now Anakin was sixteen. Nobody would care in Mos Eisley. He turned on the ship engine and set it to hover mode. They were going into town.

Obi-Wan was asleep when they landed, so Anakin grabbed some credits, checked that his lightsaber was still clipped to his belt, and left the craft. When he was a little boy sometimes he would ride with Kitster and Greedo as Greedo’s mother made the rounds of the cantinas, searching for her sort-of husband. The cantina where he was most often found was on Outer Kerner Way. Anakin still remembered the streets of Mos Eisley, all these years later. There was the market of Kerner Plaza, where Inner Curved Street intersected with Outer Kerner Way, leading to Dune Street. Somehow the streets seemed narrower and less crowded now.

Aha, there it was. Chalmun’s Spaceport Cantina. There were plenty of drinking joints around the city, but to a little boy who was already a gifted pilot, Chalmun’s was a dreamworld filled with adult pilots to be admired and emulated. Now Anakin was almost old enough to visit it in his own right. He strode up to the bar and asked for a “nova blaster.” He hardly knew what was in it but remembered the name from when he was a child. Whatever it was, he hoped it would make him feel better, the way alcohol seemed to do for his master. His own mother wanted nothing to do with him. He was sixteen today. He was not learning as much as quickly as Alema had at his age, because his master was a mess. Poor Master Obi-Wan, his apprentice had driven him to drink. He was too stubborn and protective to let Anakin be transferred to another master or possibly kicked out of the Order altogether. He remembered the man Obi-Wan had been; it was Anakin’s fault that he was now reduced to this. Whatever new master Anakin received would also be ruined. Master Yoda would figure this out and send him away, possibly back here, his droopy sad green ears belying his coldness. But now Anakin knew that he was not welcome here, since his mother had long since replaced him with a new family.

Anakin lifted the glass to his lips. The green liquid did not look terribly appetizing, but then, neither did blue milk to offworlders. It smelled like his master. This drink must have brandy in it. Anakin thought about Master Qui-Gon and his clean, spicy scent. He later found out that it was hair oil, and for a long time his master’s room continued to smell of it. It was soothing to both of them, apparently. Whenever his master’s hair was longer he used to wear some of the hair oil himself, but he kept his hair almost as short as Anakin’s these past few years and was generally too out-of-it to do much beyond basic grooming maintenance nowadays anyway. When had the smell of alcohol become Master Obi-Wan’s signature scent? Certainly when they first met aboard the ship, when Master Qui-Gon introduced them, he was not drinking, at least, not like this.

Here goes, down the hatch. Anakin took a swallow of the green cocktail and almost choked. This tasted terrible. Given the sheer quantity of this stuff that his master drank, he had expected it to taste better. All the missed appointments, broken promises to spar, afternoons spent sneaking away, secret topping up in the middle of the night, all of that was for foul-tasting pod fuel? It didn’t make sense. Anakin took another mouthful. It burned going down and he nearly gagged, but then something incredible happened. Oh. His body began to feel lighter and his head warmer, looser. This must be what his master had been chasing after, at least initially. This was what people meant when they talked of “taking the edge off.” Anakin kept going through his drink, until he felt almost happy. Hey, how could the glass be empty? He needed more.

Obi-Wan woke up alone in unfamiliar surroundings. “Anakin!” He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. Oh, this is the ship. But where was Anakin? He tried to access the training bond, but had a hazy connection at best to the Force. On the other hand, he remembered that they had landed near a city, Mos Eisley, was it? Anakin must have gone into town, perhaps for supplies. Obi-Wan decided to leave the ship.

In the middle of a “red dwarf,” Anakin began to feel angry. He deserved better than a dusty backwater desert planet, childhood as a slave, mother who thought him replaceable, and drunkard of a master. Anakin Skywalker was the Chosen One, after all. He deserved better than to be an ordinary Jedi padawan, too. He should be on an accelerated program, maybe even a knight by now, since he was far better than Alema, who was a senior padawan, while he was being kept back as a junior padawan. It was all because his master was too drunk to train him properly.

Obi-Wan wandered the streets of Mos Eisley. He had never been to this particular town on this specific planet before, but these Outer Rim towns were all similar. There were main roads with alleyways, usually market squares, and a variety of businesses. The market square would be a likely place. Anakin said he used to like the pallies sold at the fruit stand at the market. Perhaps he was shopping for fruit or something to eat. He was a growing boy, after all. Obi-Wan wandered onto a main street marked Outer Kerner Way, which somehow felt right.

Anakin began to feel rather sick by the time he was midway through his third drink, an orange “Cassandra sunrise.” He had never ingested alcohol before in his life, not even a sip or a taste, because his master never shared. Why did Anakin’s life have to be so hard? Kriff the Jedi Order, kriff Mom, kriff Tatooine, kriff homework, kriff Master Obi-Wan, kriff kriff kriff! Anakin could feel the rage welling up inside of him.

Obi-Wan looked up and noticed a sign that read, simply, “Cantina.” Ah, lovely. He forgot all about Anakin as he made his way inside. There was a long, thin bar placed down the middle of the establishment and booths lining the rounded walls. He noticed a live band playing exciting music. This was somehow nicer than the Outlander Club. The patrons were drinking brightly-colored cocktails, too. The bartender must have an amazing repertoire. He strode up to the bar and ordered a “flameout.” The bartender looked him up and down suspiciously, like he had never seen a Jedi before, but Obi-Wan’s smile seemed to do the trick. Dimples could be useful, apparently.

Obi-Wan was enjoying the feeling of the firewater going down his gullet when he felt something terrible in the Force. It must be very bad that he could feel it at all. His eyes scanned the bar for threats. Aha. There was a humanoid creature on the other side of the bar, getting annoyed about something, and a familiar Force presence getting annoyed in return. Anakin. Obi-Wan downed the rest of his drink, then moved to the other side of the bar before ordering his second “flameout.” He moved closer to the being that was clearly angry at Anakin. It looked to be a Devaronian male. Obi-Wan shuddered to think of the memories of that place. No wonder this man was on Tatooine and very grumpy. Having to live with those women would do terrible things to a man’s sanity.

When Obi-Wan was on his fifth “flameout” in the space of fifteen minutes, he saw the Devaronian man reach for his blaster, apparently intending to shoot Anakin, who was just sitting there, nursing a drink. By this time Obi-Wan was right behind the Devaronian, who was much taller and broader in build than Obi-Wan, so that Anakin could not see his master. Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber and sliced off the Devaronian’s blaster arm before he could shoot Anakin. He finished his drink in one gulp, moved around the writhing body on the floor to collect Anakin, gulped down the rest of Anakin’s drink as well, and led the boy back out onto the street.

“Master, you found me after all.” Anakin was fighting back angry tears. “I didn’t think you cared about anything other than booze, and I was right. You only found me because you wandered into the cantina, and then were more preoccupied with your drink and stealing mine than you were with helping me. What did I do to deserve all this!”

Obi-Wan stared at his padawan. An uncomfortable prickly feeling at the back of his head told him that Anakin’s accusations were at least half-true. “You’re not old enough to drink at cantinas like that. Come on, let’s get some pallies and go back to the ship. You like pallies. I’ve never even seen one. You’ll have to show me.”

“How can you!” Anakin shook his arm free of his master’s hand. “You’re acting as if nothing happened!”

“What do you think happened, Anakin? I helped you get out of a sticky situation at the cantina just now, which you were in because you left the ship without telling me where you were going.”

“You insisted we come to this sithspit planet just so that my mother could reject me, didn’t you? I hate sand! It’s coarse, and irritating, and it gets everywhere! Just like you, you’re pathetic.”

Obi-Wan was not in control of his faculties or his hand. He only became aware of what had happened when he heard a loud “SLAP!” echo through the dusty street. He had never meant to strike Anakin; he had never once struck the boy, except in the dojo as part of their combat practice. Anakin’s eyes grew wide as his hand flew up to his cheek and angry tears glinted in the red light from the twin sunset.

It was Obi-Wan, however, who was sobbing. “I’m a pathetic lifeform. Always have been, always will be. I don’t deserve any of this. I shouldn’t be a Jedi, have a brilliant apprentice, a nice birth family, beautiful wife, children of my own, or friends. I deserve to roll over and die, right here, right now. And now I’ve ruined everything and everybody that meant anything to me. I let my master die, I failed my padawan too many times to count, stole from Garen, disappointed my mother and my friends, and now I’ve struck you.” Obi-Wan sank to his knees, right in the alley.

Anakin was too shocked by this train of events to even register half of what his master had said, but he pulled the older Jedi up by the shoulder and dragged him along through the street, toward the market stall. “It’s always all about you and your suffering for me, isn’t it, never about my suffering caused directly by you. So full of drama. You want me to buy pallies so you feel generous, I’ll buy some kriffing pallies. I hope you’re satisfied. I hate you!”

Anakin stuffed the pale green round fruit into his cloak pocket and resumed marching his master through the streets of Mos Eisley, dragging him by the back of his collar. They needed to get back to the ship before nightfall. Anakin wanted off of this planet right now. As he loaded his master back onto the ship, Anakin muttered under his breath, “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Sleemo.”

Obi-Wan heard that but did not respond. He had earned that response. All the years of failure deserved it. It was almost comforting to be hated, since Obi-Wan hated himself. At last someone agreed with him.

It was on the ship, deep in hyperspace back to Coruscant, that Obi-Wan awoke with a start. He had heard a voice. It was a very familiar, comforting voice, but also very sad. He struggled to place where he had heard it before, and looked around him for clues as to the identity of the speaker, but Anakin was off by himself, sulking in the cockpit. Not that he could blame the boy. There was nobody else anywhere.

“Padawan. Don’t focus on your anxieties. Connect to the Force. You were always strong in the Unifying Force; it is what you need now. That boy needs you. Your daughter needs you. There is another who will need you. Focus, padawan.”

The only person who might conceivably call Obi-Wan “padawan” was long dead. But that was clearly his voice. “Master…” Obi-Wan’s arms stretched out into the empty air in an attempt to hug Qui-Gon, who was not there. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and saw a collage of faces, some belonging to the dead, others to near strangers. He recognized a few of them. There was Satine holding Deltine, with Korkie at her side, with the extended Kenobi family gathered around her like a posed family holo. Master Tahl, Master Fisto, and the other Jedi masters mingled with his crechemates. There were Garen and Bant, and Reeft and Siri, as Initiates. Oh no, here comes Bruck Chun with Xanatos. Darth Maul appeared with his red lightsaber, nodding at Jango Fett before kissing that Zabrak woman from the bar. Obi-Wan saw Dex and Master Dooku, even the little Togruta girl who had been at the Halls of Healing when Anakin had Dagoban fever, oh yes, her name was Ahsoka, wasn’t it, along with the Queen of Naboo and various senators, with Supreme Chancellor Palpatine holding up a cup of Naboo kaf. He remembered his failures and his lapses. No, those nights with Satine were not lapses, they had produced his children. The very fact that he had children at all was a lapse. There was Chancellor Palpatine again, offering him Gungan rum, then slipping a bottle of Corellian whiskey into his cloak pocket at Qui-Gon’s funeral. Wait a minute. Obi-Wan had not been like this until he had taken on Anakin after his master’s death, sure, but there was another variable that he had always overlooked before.

By the time they landed back at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Obi-Wan was shaking, but he had not had another drink after he had binge-drunk all the supplies on board the ship. Anakin had calmed down to a degree as well, feeling rather subdued by his first hangover. He glanced at his master with a little bit more sympathy than before, until he remembered that hangovers were the ultimate in self-inflicted illnesses.


	22. Rock Bottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the road to recovery begins. Obi-Wan feels like a padawan all over again, while Garen continues to Show He Cares (TM). Anakin has a big adjustment to make, too.

Master Dooku was there at the spaceport to greet them. Apparently he had heard from his Twi’lek grandpadawan about the disastrous little lifeday holiday. He embraced Anakin, which was unusual for an elderly master usually so reserved in his body language, and noted the distinct second-day alcohol smell and cloudy Force presence. As long as Anakin learned his lesson and did not pick up bad habits from his master this could be a good experience. He gave Anakin a pat on the back and sent him off to join Alema and Asajj Ventress, who were also at the spaceport. The boy would be all right. There was no sign of Obi-Wan coming off of the ship, so Master Dooku boarded the vessel to find him.

When he found his grandpadawan, he drew in a sharp breath. Obi-Wan was lying on the floor, shaking uncontrollably and sweating profusely, all the while murmuring with a parched, raspy voice, “I’m sorry…” Master Dooku got down on his knees, then lifted Obi-Wan’s head onto his lap. He felt his forehead for signs of fever, although he knew exactly what was ailing him. He let his hand migrate upward to the top of Obi-Wan’s head, then stroked the cropped ginger hair for a while, sending a calming wave of Force suggestion. Even though he did not have a training bond with Obi-Wan, he was still able to reach his mind through damaged shields. He really was dangerously close to having his brain hijacked by the Dark Side. Master Dooku remembered this part of the experience all too well. In another year or so, Obi-Wan would be a drooling idiot or an automaton controlled by the unseen Sith master.

Master Dooku brushed away a tear he would never admit was there. “Help. I need help.” He could barely make out the words, but Obi-Wan had said them. Thank the Force. Master Dooku pulled Obi-Wan up to his feet, then walked him off the craft and straight into the Halls of Healing.

“What is it this time?” Master Vokara Che clicked her tongue. “Your whole lineage make the most challenging patients. What has Kenobi done to himself now?”

“He slipped off to Tatooine on an unauthorized vacation—”

“Great, more inoculations then.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think any other organisms could possibly live in his body when he barely can himself. You could disinfect the bed with any one of his body fluids, given the amount of alcohol he probably has in his system.”

Master Che sighed. “He’s been looking breathtakingly bad for a long time. I’m pretty sure human males in their early thirties aren’t supposed to look like that.”

“But he finally asked me for help. That’s his first step. I hope he survives.”

“It’s about time he sought help. We’re going to have to put him through detox first. By the looks of him he’s going to have a terrible time going through withdrawals. Are you sure he really wants to get sober?”

“I know it when I see it. He’s where I was almost thirty years ago. I’d be happy to sit with him, the way Qui-Gon sat with me.”

* * *

When Alema and Asajj Ventress deposited Anakin at his and his master’s shared apartment, they ran into Garen in the hall and told him that Anakin was home.

“What about Obi?”

“The Halls of Healing. Master Dooku is with him. He’s finally going to try to quit drinking. Anakin’s hung over too, though. I doubt he’ll want to make a habit of it, but you never know. You might check in on both of them.”

“Thanks, Asajj, good to know.” Garen rang the doorbell and was not surprised when Anakin was slow to answer the door. “Welcome home and happy lifeday.”

“It wasn’t very happy.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I guess. Come in.”

Garen had to coax Anakin to start talking, but once he did start, he wouldn’t stop. The boy had years’ worth of pent up frustration and worry, not to mention fear of rejection and abandonment. Some of his worries about having to get a new master or else be kicked out of the Order for someone else’s problems reminded Garen very much of the anxieties that Obi-Wan had had as an Initiate. The boy had learned, however, that the way to deal with sorrow and worry was to drown it in alcohol. This accounted for his little experiment at the cantina. Garen decided not to mention the fact that Anakin was underage, instead focusing on the natural conclusion to be drawn from Anakin’s attempt: alcohol did not make things better at all.

“I have no idea where my master is now, or if he is still my master. We didn’t talk at all on the ship coming home, after I told him I hated him. He was drunk again anyway. He might still be on that ship, for all I care. I hope he starves there. He never eats any actual food anyway.”

Garen took a deep breath. “I can see that you’ve had enough. Your reasons for feeling the way you do are legitimate and logical, but remember, anger is toxic if you hold onto it. There is nothing wrong with feeling angry and recognizing what made you feel that way, but once you collect that information, you have to release the anger itself into the Force. Your master hurt you through his behavior. Of course you feel angry. He hurt me too. But you know what? I’m still his friend, I still care about him. I’m going to go see him when I can.”

“Where is he?” For all his angry words, Anakin did care, probably too deeply. It was impossible to hate something unless you cared deeply. The opposite of love is not hate but indifference, after all.

“In the Halls of Healing. They’re going to keep him there for a while. He’ll be very ill until his body gets used to not having alcohol in his bloodstream all the time. He’ll need to go back to eating solid food and he won’t be quite himself for up to half a year, but we’ll get him back, as long as he doesn’t go back to drinking. Master Dooku can help with that, but it’s Obi’s decision.”

“He’s been normal for stretches of days, sometimes even a week or two, plenty of times in the past, but he’s always gone back to being drunk whenever I needed him to be sober and present for me. How do I know this is going to be different?”

“We don’t know that. Obi himself won’t know that. But since he expressed a willingness to help himself, we need to be prepared to help him do that. I don’t trust him anymore either. He’ll have to regain our trust.”

“He’s got all those bottles hidden everywhere. I can show you.”

“All right.” Garen felt a knot in his stomach. This was the same man who had stolen the contents of an entire bottle of rum from him. He had seen the bottles under the bed some years ago; he was not surprised that there were more hiding places.

Anakin rounded up the empty bottles to discard. A good two thirds of the bottles they found were actually empty. Obi-Wan had always been a tidy person who did not hoard trash, and yet he kept empty booze bottles. Garen understood that he was probably too ashamed to dispose of this many all at once. Even the remaining non-empty bottles were not full either. Anakin decided to consolidate the ones that were the same.

“Now what? If we leave them, he’ll find them and drink them. If I throw them away, he’ll go buy more.” Anakin furrowed his brow, making him look much older than his sixteen years. After his experience at the cantina on Mos Eisley, he did not especially want to drink them himself.

“That’s for Obi to decide. We’ll leave them out so that they’re clearly visible—no more hiding—and let him figure out what to do with them whenever he comes home.”

“Is he going to come home, though? Aren’t they going to expel him from the Order?” Anakin’s voice betrayed a mixture of pity, fear, and vindictiveness.

“Would they expel me from the Order if I lost an arm and got a mechanical one? That’s a permanent condition, just like alcoholism. Even if he never drinks another drop for the rest of his life, he will always be an alcoholic. A sober one, but still an alcoholic. Just like if I got a new bionic arm, I would always have it, I could never go back to having just my original arms. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, Anakin. There are a lot of Jedi, and each one has his or her unique experiences and challenges; that’s what makes our organization strong. As a group we can handle just about anything, because there’s always somebody who has a relevant experience or insight. It’s hard to see it now, but someday there’ll be a situation where Obi being a recovering alcoholic will be helpful, either to himself or on a mission.”

Anakin seemed satisfied with this answer. He ran his hand over his rather overgrown padawan cut. His blond hair had turned curly at puberty, and now it had grown just barely long enough to curl. It was time for a trim. Maybe he could do it himself as a sort of meditation.

“I hope you’re right. I guess I feel better about it. I miss him already. I just hope we get him back, the way he was when I first met him. Even though I thought Qui-Gon was totally wizard and I was happy about becoming his apprentice, I actually liked Master Obi-Wan, too.”

“Of course you did. Everybody did. Except for Darksiders. I can count on one hand the people who don’t or didn’t love Obi right away. Half of them are dead.” Garen remembered Bruck Chun and Xanatos as if it were only yesterday that he and Obi-Wan were Initiates dealing with those boys and their betrayal. Obviously Darth Maul and his Sith master hated Obi-Wan, and he had heard about a Mandalorian named Jango Fett who didn’t like Obi-Wan, but he truly could not think of anyone else. It was rare to be as universally well-liked as Obi-Wan.

When Garen reached the Halls of Healing, Bant was already there. Of course she was, this was her shift. But even if she had not been on duty as a healer, Garen knew that she would be here, trying to provide comfort to Obi-Wan. Stripped down to just a thin medical gown, it was obvious how painfully thin he was. His ribs were covered by the gown, but the bones in his bare legs were clear to see. He was still shaking and sweating. Bant had helped hook him up to an IV so that he wouldn’t get too dehydrated, but the battery of tests done on his condition showed that he was severely malnourished. Humans caught a number of terrible diseases when that happened, like scurvy and beriberi. His liver and kidneys were also quite damaged, but this was not a surprise, given his complexion. His eyes were open but out of focus, and they looked more green than usual.

Blue eyes turning green was not a symptom of alcohol poisoning, according to Bant’s expert medical opinion, but of Dark Side manipulation. If he turned, his eyes would turn yellow. The green was merely a step along that path. It was hard to imagine Obi-Wan turning to the Dark Side, but he could possibly get drunk or addled enough to make a commitment he did not understand and find himself trapped. Garen shuddered at the thought.

He laid a hand on Obi-Wan’s once-muscular bicep. He could almost feel the bone. “Obi, we’re here for you. We still care about you. I’m not angry about the rum. Don’t worry about that. We miss you.”

It was hard to tell whether Obi-Wan was hearing any of this or was lucid enough to understand it, but he did respond with the ghost of a smile. In the next moment, however, he began retching so Garen moved out of the way.

“Master…Tahl…“ Obi-Wan smiled. He must be hallucinating. At least it seemed to be a happy vision. “No! Master! No!” In the next moment his expression clouded and he seemed to be experiencing a bad memory again. Garen stroked the cropped hair for a few minutes and left, not wishing to tire out his friend.

* * *

“Obi, hold the tuber like this, up to your chest, and peel it away from you.” Master Tahl was the one who had taught him to cook. They added the vegetables to the pot and adjusted the heat. Then Qui-Gon came in with a new plant, a vine that he inexplicably planted into the wall. Obi-Wan got a very bad feeling about that plant. Sure enough, it grew at an alarming rate and tried to throttle his master with its tendrils. “No! Master! No!”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and looked up at white walls. As he stared he noticed a vine sprout from a vent and grow rapidly. There was a bud on the tip of the tendril. As he lay, shaking, the bud swelled and blossomed into a blood red flower with rows and rows of sharp, jagged teeth. The vine continued to grow, pushing the flower closer and closer to Obi-Wan. He realized that he was strapped to the bed and there was something warm and leathery firmly grasping his hand. The vine branched out in a myriad tendrils, each topped by a bud that bloomed before his eyes, surrounding him with distinctly predatory red flowers that grew ever closer. Finally the first one was mere inches from his face. The flower seemed to open wider, as if it were preparing to bite.

Obi-Wan tried to scream, but his throat was parched, as if he had been eating cotton balls. One of the flowers had already bitten his arm. He closed his eyes and tried to release his fear into the Force. Whatever it was that was grasping his hand seemed to squeeze tighter.

“Obi-Wan, it’s only a hallucination, you’ll be all right.” A voice came into his mind and tried to fool him. Obi-Wan squirmed, trying to free himself. It was hopeless.

The flower never made contact with his face. He opened his eyes to find the flowers gone. Instead he heard the live band from the Mos Eisley cantina. This was almost pleasant. Oh no, all of the other patrons had blasters aimed at him. Obi-Wan tried to reach for his lightsaber and stopped. He did not need to see it to know that it was not blue but red.

A drink. All of this would go away if he just had a drink. But no, he was in the Halls of Healing where he could not get one. Then he realized with a start that he did not really want a drink; the thought of alcohol made him gag. The face of the Supreme Chancellor popped into his head. Sheev Palpatine offered him a bottle of utoz, which Obi-Wan turned down. At this moment the friendly chancellor’s eyes gleamed an evil yellow and the bottle morphed into a red lightsaber.

Obi-Wan came back to the present when he heard a stifled gasp next to him. He turned his head and finally recognized the figure as Master Dooku, who was holding his hand. The bite to his arm must have been the needle of the IV. It was surprising to him that one so formal and haughty-seeming as his grand master would be sitting with him in detox for hours. This was the very man Obi-Wan had been hiding from, out of a sense of shame. He remembered binge-drinking his hidden supplies on the ship when Anakin refused to talk to him, his hand moving the bottles to his lips compulsively, refusing to obey his brain’s command to stop. He also had a vague memory of having his head cradled on Master Dooku’s lap, also on the ship. In that moment he had strongly wanted to never drink again.

“I can see your thoughts, Obi-Wan. You’re projecting them. It’s all right, that’s normal in your condition. It helps me to help you, so don’t be embarrassed. I had my suspicions about the Supreme Chancellor myself.”

Obi-Wan’s cloudy green eyes grew wide in panic. Nobody else was supposed to know that he harbored treasonous thoughts regarding the man. The chancellor had always been so friendly and kind and always provided him with plenty of alcohol—oh. He recalled every time he had received alcohol of any kind from the chancellor.

Master Dooku’s eyes also went wide. The chancellor seemed to have been plying Obi-Wan with drink deliberately. If Obi-Wan’s visions were correct, then the Sith master may very well be the Supreme Chancellor himself. Master Windu would not want to believe this, but Master Yoda might be willing to listen. He might benefit from seeing inside Obi-Wan’s mind as well.

Master Che came into the room to check up on his vitals. “Phew, you smell terrible, Kenobi. It’s the detox sweat. Not your fault, but not pleasant. Well, I suppose it is your fault in a way.”

Master Dooku gave her a sharp glare. Shaming was the last thing Obi-Wan needed. It was true that he smelled bad, but this was a temporary problem. A simple wipe down would help.

“Blood alcohol level is falling, the levels of various nutrients in Kenobi’s bloodstream are climbing back up to normal levels. It’ll take a while for his liver and kidneys to recover, if they ever recover completely. I suppose he may need a Force-healing session depending on his progress. I think it’s about time for a new IV bag. He’s going to get even thinner before he begins to fill out again, because of the loss of the alcohol calories. Eventually he’ll be able to eat actual food again.”

Obi-Wan listened to the master healer’s explanation about him as if it were about someone else. The way she talked about him as if he wasn’t there felt entirely appropriate, because in a way he truly wasn’t there. He felt like throwing up, but there was nothing in his stomach.

“Well, Master Dooku, you know what to do with his mind. Bant or I will pop in every few hours to make sure he’s not dying and not having a seizure, but I’ll leave you to it.” Master Che pushed back a lekku and gave what looked a bit like a military salute to the elderly master who was still clutching the patient’s hand.

“What _are_ you going to do with my mind?” Unpleasant memories of attempted mind-wipes and various torture sessions from his padawan days bubbled up to the surface. He was not going to drown these in alcohol this time.

“Well, you might be surprised to discover that you’re not the only Jedi knight to ever become addicted to a substance. We’re especially vulnerable with our high midichlorian counts, and in your case, when I met your brother he mentioned getting off of deathsticks. There is a genetic predisposition in your family, it seems.”

“My father has dementia because of alcohol, and my grandfather was a violent, angry drunk. I don’t remember him, but my mother does.”

“Yes, I met her. She’s a sensible but caring woman. I liked her. Anyway, it’s important to understand that you’re not alone. That’s why we have a self-help group. It’s a secret who the members are, but I think you are more than eligible to join. Assuming you want to get and stay sober, of course.”

“Yes, I’m tired. I can’t do this any more.”

“You’re sick and tired of being sick and tired, as we say. Whatever happened on Tatooine seems to have been your rock bottom. You already took the first step. You admitted that you’re a mess and that your drinking is making your life unmanageable. That’s a good start.”

Obi-Wan struggled to hold back a tear. He had to admit defeat. He was just a pathetic lifeform after all, and now he was diseased as well. Unmanageable seemed like an understatement. Master Dooku, a man he respected, had found him out, and instead of rebuking him or bringing disciplinary action against him, he was here, trying to help him. He did not deserve this kindness. Wait a minute. Something did not add up. There was something odd about the way Master Dooku was speaking.

“We?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Yes, we. Thirty years ago I drank just like you. Qui-Gon never forgave me for the damage I did to him because of my drinking when he was still a young boy. He did sit with me when I went through detox, just like you’re going through now. The withdrawal period is not pleasant, but once you get through that, as long as you put in the work and stay sober, your life will improve. Mine did.”

Obi-Wan could only stare at his grand-master. Master Dooku? An alcoholic? Wait, no. What did he just call him? If Master Dooku was an alcoholic, then so was Obi-Wan. Just like his father and grandfather before him. Nobody likes an alcoholic. He began to panic. He couldn’t be. Alcoholics were people who needed to quit drinking. But wait, he had just expressed a desire to do just that. What was he afraid of? Shame? But he had already said and done plenty of shameful things drunk. There shouldn’t be any shame in trying to get better, should there?

But that assumed that he was currently unwell. Duh, of course he was unwell, he was strapped to a bed in the Halls of Healing. These thoughts swirled around in his head for a few minutes until Master Dooku squeezed his hand again. “Can you recite the Jedi Code?”

“I think so. There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no chaos; there is harmony. There is no death; there is the Force.”

“Good. I’m glad you remember the words. Do you also remember what the words mean? For us alcoholic Jedi, lack of emotion and passion do not mean we let ourselves become automatons. We arm ourselves with knowledge about our condition, because ignorance brings death. As long as we let the Force guide us in all things, we will not die of our condition. Drinking brought chaos into our lives; sobriety brings harmony. Do you understand how the Code applies to our situation?”

“Yes, Master.” It was humbling and reassuring to hear the way Master Dooku consistently included himself in the category of pathetic lifeforms, that is, alcoholics, even though he had clearly not had a drink for a long time. “Master, I have a hard time imagining you as a drunk.”

Master Dooku chuckled. “Just ask Master Yoda, even Master Windu. I’m sure they remember more than they would like. You’ll hear about it if you come to meetings of the self-help group. If you do decide to join us, remember that this fact will stay a secret. Normally we let new people choose a sponsor. For a sponsor-pigeon pair where both are Jedi, we form a sort of training bond.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “How long do you have to endure not drinking before you can join your group?”

“All you need is a desire to stop drinking. That’s it. You already have that desire, don’t you?”

“Yes. But Master, how long have you—”

“It doesn’t matter. I have twenty-seven years, but that’s the wrong way to look at it. I just live one day at a time, trusting the Force to help me not drink. One day at a time, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan tried to lift his head to gawk, but discovered that the room was spinning. He frowned. “Dizzy.”

“I should think so. I remember that part.”

Obi-Wan wanted to scratch his chest and belly, but his arms were tied down. “Master, can you get rid of the insects crawling all over my body? It’s too itchy.”

Master Dooku looked at him bemusedly. “Insects? I’m afraid that there aren’t any insects. That’s a hallucination. I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan frowned even deeper, then remembered something Satine had said when they were teenagers. She told him not to frown because of the wrinkles that would form if he kept frowning. She wanted him to cultivate laugh lines over a long and happy life. Admittedly it sounded much better in Mando’a, but he appreciated the romantic intent of the sentiment.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “I suppose I’m to release all this into the Force. My Force connection is much weaker than it used to be.”

“Yes, your Force presence is cloudy. But that will clear up over time. Yes, the thing to do is to release it into the Force. You believe that the Force can restore you to sanity, don’t you? As long as you are stuck inside your own head, you’ll stay confused and angry. The Force is a power greater than yourself. Trust in the Force, not yourself, and you will be all right.”

“I really made a mess of my life, didn’t I?”

“Well, that’s what happens when we alcoholics are in charge of our lives, when we forget to listen to the Force. If we turn our will and lives over to the Force’s guidance, the mess won’t get worse, and we’ll be able to fix it.”

Obi-Wan smiled bitterly. “I’m pretty sure Anakin would love to fix me, maybe with a hydrospanner and soldering iron. Too bad I’m not a droid.”

Master Dooku chuckled. “Oh yes, Anakin will need help too. I failed to see it with Qui-Gon, but it’s not just the alcoholic himself who needs to recover. He should probably see a mind healer. I just hope he doesn’t copy us and become an alcoholic in his own right. That kid has an absurd midichlorian count that puts him at risk.”

Obi-Wan blanched. “Oh no. I’m sure I hurt a lot of people.”

“Actually, I’m glad you mentioned that, because your next step is to make a moral inventory of yourself. No lying, now. You’ve already lied enough to yourself and everyone else. It’s good to be brutally honest, but that doesn’t mean you should wallow in guilt and self-pity. Release the feelings into the Force, and write down all the things you feel are flaws and mistakes, all the times you’ve hurt people. Once you’ve done that, you’re going to have to go over that list with another person.”

Obi-Wan gasped. He was being asked to admit publicly that he was a pathetic lifeform, a failure as a Jedi, as a master, as a friend, as son and brother, as a husband and father, no, as a sentient being in general.

“Just one other person. And the Force, of course. The purpose of this confession is not self-torment, but to make yourself admit these things to yourself as a first step towards fixing the problems. It helps to have an audience for that, is all. Don’t worry, the person you tell is not supposed to spill your secrets, no matter how shameful.”

“Even the Code violations? Even the things I did that could get me expelled from the Order?”

Master Dooku ran a hand along the top of Obi-Wan’s head, stroking the short copper hair. “You think you’re the only alcoholic Jedi to violate the Code? I don’t know about the non-alcoholic Jedi, but I can tell you right now that I violated most of the Code myself. But I’m still here. I almost turned once, but I didn’t.”

Master Dooku could feel Obi-Wan starting to tire. “I think that’s enough for now. It’s a big adjustment both physically and mentally. I can stay with you until you fall asleep and then I can come back tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He was not hungry but the memory of Master Tahl making vegetable stew for him and his master gave him a bittersweet warm feeling. Of course, he should have called her Master Uvain, but she had let him address her as if he were her padawan. The stew was a ploy to get him and his master to eat vegetables and it worked, because Obi-Wan grew up to be very fond of vegetables, at least when he was still eating solid food. He had tried something similar with Anakin in an attempt to give him a semi-normal home life. It was Obi-Wan himself who had destroyed that stable domesticity.


	23. Lovingly Ensnared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darth Maul meets his match. Obi-Wan gets on with the business of rebuilding his life. Of course Quinlan Vos has tried spice, because he's Quinlan Vos.

Darth Maul decided to make a quick trip to Stewjon to check on his new deathstick empire. This time he had his own legs along as a sort of assistant. It was strange to be walking alongside his own disembodied legs as he made his way to his ship. How had he come to this? It took a nice hit of spice for him to get his brain working enough to put in the coordinates to Stewjon.

Once he got there, he frowned. The dereliction of once-grand buildings and large numbers of addicts on the streets should have been enough to make him smile, especially since this was Kenobi’s home planet, but that was just the trouble. Kenobi was everywhere. There were too many people who looked like him. Most of the men were Kenobi-size or maybe a little taller, and a sizable minority had the same copper hair. The sight of so many Kenobi lookalikes brought out the trauma of being cut in half by the man; Darth Maul’s spice-induced nightmares were mostly about millions of cloned Kenobis, and here he was on a planet full of them.

Darth Maul walked along for a while, his trusty legs following, until he could not take it anymore and sat down on the doorstep of a house to shoot up another hit of spice. He opened a new bag and poured some into his syringe with shaking hands before rolling up his sleeve and tying a cloth band around his arm. He was still shaking as he waited for the spice to liquify before injecting it into his arm. He had not been paying attention to the dose; he needed more to get any effect these days anyway. As soon as the drug entered his bloodstream, he felt everything melt away, all his physical pain, anxiety about being in Kenobi-land, his fear of failing his master, soon even his consciousness itself.

When Darth Maul came to, he found himself in what appeared to be a hospital room. He deduced that he had probably overdosed on a bad batch. His legs, still attached to the dishwasher droid, sat in a chair next to his bed. His eyes drifted around the room until they came to rest on the wrinkled, old face of a white-haired doctor. Darth Maul frowned at the strange familiarity of the face.

“Good, you’re awake. My sister found you passed out on her doorstep and brought you here, along with your legs. I’m Dr. Minnear by the way. I’ve never seen a man travel with his own legs as a separate companion before.”

“I would much rather be in one piece, but a certain redheaded Jedi knight from this very planet is to blame for this arrangement.” Darth Maul growled at the friendly Stewjoni doctor.

“I’m sure we could reattach your legs, if you so wish. It would be a major operation but it’s not impossible.”

Darth Maul considered this. As he was thinking, a woman of around sixty came into his sickroom. “Oh good, you’re awake. You gave me a right scare. I know a spicehead when I see one but seeing your legs separate from the top half of you I thought I couldn’t blame you for wanting to dull the pain.” She patted his smooth head in an affectionate gesture that his own mother, the vicious witch, had never tried with him. This woman oozed motherliness.

“I’ve got five—well, four living—grown sons of my own, dear boy, so I couldn’t leave a young man to die on my doorstep. You’re safe with us. What you need is a good family, love. I’m Jeri-Mar.”

Darth Maul stared at the woman. She, too, looked uncomfortably familiar, too much like a Kenobi. And yet, there was something soothing and attractive in her eyes, inviting him to trust her, so that he almost wanted to let go of the anger and hate that kept him going.

“I would like to have my legs reattached.” Darth Maul finally said. He wasn’t sure if this doctor would be able to do it, but surely it was worth a try. Even if he died, that would still be better than most of the life he had lived. From where he was lying he could not see that the patient identification plaques on his bed and sickroom door bore the name tag, “Unidentified Kenobi.”

* * *

When Obi-Wan awoke the next morning, Master Dooku was at his bedside, as promised. He smiled to see his grand-master. If he had known that Master Dooku knew exactly what he was going through, he would have confided in him sooner. On the other hand, things always happened for a reason. Perhaps the Force had some lessons to teach him by having things happen this way.

“I had the strangest dream about Darth Maul. I dreamed my mother adopted him and got my uncle to reattach his legs, knowing full well who he was. She would, too, if given the chance.”

Master Dooku’s eyes sparkled in mirth. “I met her once. Yes, I believe she would. She reminded me of Qui-Gon that way. Always adopting things, fighting for the right to survive on behalf of less fortunate beings.”

“Pathetic lifeforms. She birthed the ultimate pathetic lifeform, so I suppose she has a high tolerance for them.”

“There you go again. Did you make the list I mentioned?”

“All my wrongs? Yes, I did. It’s a very long list.”

“I’m sure it is. It is for all of us. Mine was long too. Are you ready to share it? I’ll make sure nobody else comes into this room.”

* * *

A dark-haired Kiffar man passed almost unnoticed through the streets of Stewjon’s capital, following Darth Maul and his legs. It was almost a comical sight; Quinlan Vos wished he could capture a holo of the scene and send it to Obi-Wan. He observed Darth Maul’s rather clumsy injection of spice into himself. Quinlan Vos had taken spice once—all right, three times—in his life, but had always done it better than that. On the other hand, his hands did not shake and he was not addicted to it. That made a difference. Even he could tell that Darth Maul was overdosing.

The view became even more comical when Darth Maul chose the Kenobi doorstep for the site of his overdose and was promptly picked up by Mrs. Kenobi and taken to hospital. He had to smile at the thought that Darth Maul would not easily escape the clutches of good old Mama Kenobi.

* * *

It was going to be refreshing to just be Padme Naberrie again, but that was not to be. Padme prepared her luggage for the journey to Coruscant to begin her new life as Senator Amidala of Naboo. Perhaps she would see that pair of Jedi again. What was the little boy’s name again? He wouldn’t be little anymore, but she could not imagine the little blond boy from Tatooine as a grown man. Well, almost grown.

Being senator also required a trunkload of exotic, expensive, but also impractical dresses, just as being queen had. She would be working with the Supreme Chancellor more often. She knew better than to assume that he was friendly and benign because he was from the same planet as herself, but she still hoped to be proven wrong about her vague unease regarding him. At least Captain Panaka would continue to be at her side. She trusted him implicitly.

As her ship approached Coruscant, the familiar skyline came into view. It was a beautiful city when viewed from a distance. She knew that the reality was not so glamorous, especially at the lower levels where crime and poverty were rampant and the filth and squalor went ignored by the powerful. The food shortages on Outer Rim planets were mysterious and troubling, but surely there were artificial shortages here too. They would be easy to engineer to keep the poor starved into submission. Something felt different, wrong, compared to when she came in the past.

Padme noted that the freshman senators’ quarters were near the Jedi Temple. Good, that made it convenient to track down the young knight and his charge and thank them properly for what they did for Naboo that day. Really she mostly wanted to see Obi-Wan Kenobi again. She realized with a start that he was about ten years older than her. He had seemed both younger and older when she met him for the first time. Wow, he must be in his thirties by now. He was so old! But it didn’t matter as long as he was still handsome, not that she was going to pursue anything. She just wanted to look upon his comely face and hear his velvet voice speaking in that refined accent when she thanked him again for his service. Yes, that was it.

* * *

“I’m going to be expelled from the Order, right? I broke the Code on Mandalore, failed to keep my feelings and my never mind to myself, caused a lot of unnecessary deaths. That was before I even started drinking. I failed as a padawan, as a knight, as Anakin’s master, as Garen’s friend because I stole from him and treated him with rudeness and suspicion, even as Bant’s friend because I was rude and mean, as Asajj’s friend because I let her train my padawan for me, as your grandpadawan because I kept avoiding you, and as a husband and father when I’m supposed to be neither. I’m a rotten son and brother to the birth family I’m not supposed to be in communication with. Oh, and as a sentient being in general. I’ve always been a pathetic lifeform. Qui-Gon used to adopt all sorts of plants and animals that were simply pathetic, disgusting little things, but I always knew that I was the most pathetic of all.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic. Let’s unpack your list of failings. Bruck Chun and Xanatos were not your fault, Bandomeer was not your fault. Even Qui-Gon’s death was not your fault. How you dealt with it—by accepting and drinking that bottle of whiskey from the Supreme Chancellor—is your responsibility, but your grief is perfectly natural. Before you say it’s an attachment, I need to remind you that the master-padawan bond is meant to be strong. How you treated Garen and Bant was not good, I agree, but it was textbook alcoholic behavior. As for Asajj and others picking up the slack when you were failing. There was a child involved so they had to. I knew you were in trouble for sure by the way you avoided me after that time I found you and brought you home unconscious. I knew to find you there because I’d spent a lot of time and credits there myself.”

Obi-Wan nodded absently, then understanding dawned on his face. “Oh. Yes, I suppose so. And you avoided anything held at Dex’s Diner, even a lifeday party for Anakin, because of the Jawa Juice?”

“Yes, that’s right. I feel that I need to avoid certain triggering places and situations, and the smell of Jawa Juice is one of mine. You also mentioned a few other things that are clear Code violations. Care to elaborate?”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “I was sixteen years old and still a padawan on Mandalore when I fell in love with the young Duchess we were protecting. She returned the sentiments, and we were secretly married. We didn’t think we were going to survive. I didn’t know this at the time, but she got pregnant right before I had to leave to go back to Coruscant with my master. The Duchess raised the child as her nephew. Now he knows the truth about his parentage, but he’s fifteen. I missed almost all of his life.”

“You made some rash choices, but you acted in good faith. You think you’re the only Jedi with a secret lovechild?”

“It’s worse than that. I went back to Mandalore on a mission with Anakin a couple of years ago, and managed to get the Duchess pregnant again. I had no idea I had a daughter until the Duchess had to evacuate to Stewjon—because of Darth Maul, who wanted to kill the Duchess just to hurt me—and my mother took them in. She told me about my daughter.”

“I knew that girl was not your niece.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “You did? I need to do a better job shielding.”

“It’s hard to shield when you’re always more than half drunk. Don’t worry, it gets easier sober. And it was the Force, well, a mission that brought you into contact with your birth family. You can hardly be faulted for that.”

They spent the whole morning talking through Obi-Wan’s perceived faults. Some of the offenses he listed truly did require some kind of reparations, but most of what he cited was guilt for things that were not his fault.

When Master Dooku left for lunch Vokara Che came in to replace the IV bag. “It’s lunch for you, too. Your numbers are getting better. I can see you’re mostly lucid, but you’re still shaking and I bet you’re dizzy. No exciting seizures. Any fun hallucinations you’d like to share?”

Obi-Wan did his best to scowl at her. “Mostly about Darth Maul, the Sith I cut in half on Naboo. I dream about him all the time anyway. He’s not dead, even though I cut him off at the waist. He has new legs that make him taller.”

Vokara Che decided that she was a bit hasty in assuming that Obi-Wan was lucid. Not much of this speech made sense to her. At least his face was less yellow and his blood alcohol content had fallen considerably. His blood sugar was crashing with it, which was why his IV bag had to be replaced fairly frequently. From experience dealing with recovering alcoholics Master Che knew that he would develop a sweet tooth, at least for a while, and develop that tell-tale body shape. Even now his arms and legs were scrawny and his ribs visible through his skin, but his belly was distended. He looked almost as if he were both emaciated and very pregnant.

Garen brought Anakin to see him during their lunch break. Anakin was sullen and quiet at first, but when he saw his master’s face his expression changed. “Master? Are you sober? Can I trust you ever again? You hurt me.” The expression was not a smile but a look of hurt, pain, betrayal. But the very fact that his face registered those emotions proved that he still cared about his master, however much he now hated him. He did not really want a new master; Obi-Wan was not just a master, but a painfully-flawed father to him as well.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I did to you over the years. I’m writing it all out. See, Master Dooku gave me homework. And Garen. You too. I’m sorry.”

Garen reached down and ruffled his friend’s short hair. “It wasn’t you, it was the disease. I still hold you responsible for your actions, but I’m not angry. You look a little better, though I can see you have a long way to go before Master Che lets you get out of here.”

Bant and Siri came into the sickroom as well. “Well Anakin!” Bant hugged the boy in a surprise attack from behind. She extended one hand and touched Obi-Wan’s bearded face. “I’m not on duty right now and yet here I am, in the Halls of Healing. Only you guys can do that to me.”

Obi-Wan tried to chuckle, but started coughing.

“Easy there.” Siri squeezed his hand. This was the man she had once struggled with her un-Jedi-like thoughts about. He was not exactly drop-dead sexy in his current state, even if she did prefer her men to be rather skinny, but it took courage and character to try to get help and kick an addiction when one was this far gone. He smiled at her. Anakin wondered if Siri knew about Satine, and frankly found it completely baffling that there were so many strong, smart women who got weak at the knees around his master. What did they see in him? He would have to meditate on the secret of his master’s appeal to women.

The next visitor was Asajj Ventress. “Alema’s in class, but she sends her regards.” She also stroked Obi-Wan’s hair, happy to have a legitimate excuse to do so. It was less lustrous than it used to be but was still nice to touch, even though it was brittle enough to break in her hand. At this length it wouldn’t matter.

Obi-Wan sighed. “I’m sorry. I hear you’ve been training Anakin in the dojo a lot of the time. That’s my job but I haven’t been doing it. Thank you.”

“It’s all right. The boy needs training, whoever is in a position to do it should step up. That’s why I do it. But I look forward to seeing you in the dojo again someday soon. I want to spar with you, and Alema wants to experiment with Soresu. That’s your payback.” She laughed softly.

When Master Dooku came back later in the afternoon, he was very pleased with all of the apologizing that Obi-Wan had done. “That’s great, that’s a step in the right direction. Making amends is part of recovery. But first. You catalogued all the things you did that you regret. Are there any commonalities, any patterns? Like being proud, fearful, stubborn, or some other defect of character? I want you to think this through, because then you’re going to try to release them to the Force. You won’t be a perfect luminous being right away, of course, but you’ll get there. And it goes without saying that you can continue apologizing and making amends as the opportunity arises.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes closed because he couldn’t bow his head from a supine position. “Yes, Master.”

Master Dooku chuckled. “It probably reminds you of Master Yoda’s class and meditation practice from the creche, but it works. When you’re cleared for walking around, you’re welcome to come to our meeting. You’d be surprised, you’re certainly not alone.”

“Why, Master? Why are you helping me like this?”

“I told you I damaged Qui-Gon. He’s gone, but I think if he were here to tell me what to do, he would have wanted me to help you as my amends to him. I’m still making up for my mistakes, too. We all are. We never stop learning and growing. I still meditate every day to strengthen my connection to the Force, so that I can know its will for me and gain the strength and courage to carry it out. We’re all still padawans in a way, even Master Yoda.”

Obi-Wan chuckled feebly at the mental image of Master Yoda as a padawan. He had a pounding headache that made full-fledged laughter unwise.

* * *

Quinlan Vos landed at the Jedi Temple but there was nobody at the spaceport to meet him. Of course there wouldn’t be, nobody knew where he was or what he was doing. He made his way through the dormitories to the Kenobi-Skywalker apartment. He rang the doorbell, only half-expecting anyone to answer, so was surprised when Anakin answered the door.

“Hello Anakin, is your master home?”

“No.” The boy looked down to hide his flashes of anger, fear, and confusion, but he could not fool Quinlan Vos.

Oh dear. He must be drunk out there somewhere, or worse, maybe even dead. Quinlan Vos remembered all too well that time he had found Obi-Wan drunk and confused on the street in the lower levels of the city.

“Where is he? Do you know?”

“Halls of Healing.”

Kriff, he really is in bad straits. Quinlan Vos thanked Anakin and headed for the Halls of Healing. When he arrived and asked to see Knight Kenobi, he was directed to a convalescence room. He must have hurt himself pretty badly indeed, likely a drunken mishap.

“Obi-Wan?” Quinlan Vos opened the door and let himself in. He was shocked at the scrawny but bloated figure lying on the bed. Obi-Wan smiled and waved, looking surprisingly cheerful for someone who appeared to be more than half dead.

“What happened to you?”

“The best thing that could have happened, Quin. I hit my rock bottom. I’ve lost track of time in here, but it must be two, three, maybe four days since my last drink. Master Dooku has been helping me with detox. I’m sober, Quin. And I want to stay that way, one day at a time.”

Quinlan Vos approached the bed to get a closer look. Though gaunt, the face was luminous, the eyes bluer than he’d seen them in a long time. The smile was genuine, too. Quinlan Vos ran a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair and noticed it breaking off in his hand. “You won’t need a haircut for a while at this rate.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “You didn’t come just to determine that. I need to apologize to you for all the things I put you through. I’m sorry for everything, whether I remember it or not.”

“I saw Anakin. He seemed pretty upset.”

“I’m responsible for that. He finally had enough of me. It’s going to take him a while to adjust to my being sober and functional again, and he may never forgive me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Actually I came with news of your new brother.”

Obi-Wan’s expression clouded in confusion. “New brother? My mother is too old to have any more children.”

“Don’t be silly, she adopted him. His hospital ID listed him as an unidentified Kenobi. He’s a spicehead having a leg operation right now.”

“That sounds like my mother. Completely incapable of leaving well enough alone. Who is he, this new Kenobi brother?”

“Darth Maul. She knew exactly who he was, too. Said the poor wretch needed a loving mother and a nice family. Your uncle is reattaching his original legs while they have him at the hospital. I think they plan to get him off the spice as well. He’s not a threat to anyone as long as your mother has him prisoner.”

Obi-Wan tried to laugh but coughed instead. “And Satine? Is she still there, too, living with Maul?”

“No, she’s back on Mandalore with Korkie. That boy looks suspiciously like you. I wouldn’t have thought you were the type to have two secret lovechildren like that. I guess you never know.”

“You figured it out. I told Master Dooku the truth. My daughter is here, in the creche. She is Force-sensitive, with a midichlorian count to rival mine at that age. I hope to take her as my padawan someday, after Anakin is knighted.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, you are a bold one.” Quinlan Vos shook his head. “At least you have taste, choosing the Duchess of Mandalore. That is a fine, brave woman. All the members of your lineage have good taste in secret lovers. You had Siri as well, but of course Qui-Gon had Tahl, and Master Dooku had several, a countess, a prince, and a senator or two, I understand. I wonder about Anakin.”

“The Queen of Naboo. Anakin still pines for her. I pretend I don’t know.” Obi-Wan did not bother denying his past attraction to Siri. It was true, after all.

“There you go, exquisite taste. I hear she finished her second term and came to Coruscant as a senator.”

“Anakin will be happy to hear that. I’d like to see her again myself, when I’m up and about again. I want to hear her thoughts on the Supreme Chancellor.”

Quinlan Vos frowned. Obi-Wan seemed lucid enough but his still-weak mental shields betrayed his suspicions about the chancellor. This was serious business, accusing the head of the Republic of being a Sith master. Obi-Wan was a drunk still in the middle of drying out; he may have simply hallucinated the whole thing. On the other hand, he had always been right before.

* * *

Darth Sidious sucked on his rotten brown teeth. Kenobi had proved a lot more resilient than hoped. The man had plenty of transgressions on his record that should theoretically isolate him, but he remained maddeningly well-loved. By rights he should be alone and half-dead by now. Dooku’s interference was an unwelcome surprise.

At least young Skywalker had responded in a most promising manner. Anger and hatred were growing nicely in the boy and would soon blossom. Darth Maul, for his part, had overshot the mark when it came to being a usefully-addled spice addict and was no longer functional as a villain. Denying him his pain medication had sent him into deathsticks and then spice, but he had quickly progressed in his addiction to the point at which he could no longer be bothered to care about the mission.

The Trade Federation were much more ineffectual than they were seven years ago. Perhaps turning young Skywalker would be the best method after all. He already mistakenly believed himself to be the Chosen One and was justifiably angry at his master. As long as the boy felt special, misunderstood, and alone, he could be turned. His master might follow him out of a sense of guilt; if he managed to get and stay sober he might still be useful as a Sith warrior. Drunk or not, he was the true Chosen One.


	24. All Better Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan has a new life and outlook in recovery, but Anakin feels short-changed. Growing pains ensue for everyone as they adjust to a sober Obi-Wan. Master Dooku has some dark secrets from his drunken past. Darth Maul gets sucked in ever deeper into the vortex of Kenobi-ness.

“Since when has the food here been so good?” Obi-Wan devoured his tray of food at record speed. It was dull fare designed to nourish invalids, but to Obi-Wan it was fine dining.

“It’s not good food, not especially. It’s just that you didn’t eat for a long time so you forgot what food was.” Master Che smiled at her favorite patient. He was through the worst of detox already. In another few days he would be sent home. Even the swelling in his belly had gone down as Master Che and Obi-Wan himself had tried to Force-heal his damaged internal organs. He was still much too thin, but his color was better and he had finally stopped shaking. The real challenge still lay ahead.

Anakin did not really want to see his master. It wasn’t fair. He did all manner of stupid, hurtful things, and yet now that he was sober everyone was supposed to suddenly forgive him and even congratulate him on functioning almost normally. That was a bit rich. Now for sure he would be stuck with Obi-Wan as his master. It was too stressful never knowing which Obi-Wan he was going to get. Even if his master was sober full-time, he might try to treat Anakin as a youngling again, in an attempt to turn back time. Anakin was enough behind already. So much for an early knighthood.

He padded into his master’s sickroom but did not escape unnoticed. “Padawan. I’m glad you came.” Obi-Wan was smiling. The kriffing son of a gundark. Worse, he extended his skin-and-bone arms towards Anakin. The boy reluctantly approached the bed and allowed the bony fingers to touch his shoulder.

“I’ll be able to come home in a few days. I’m feeling better, I think. I’ll never be able to undo the past but we can still be happy in the future.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Anakin pulled away. It was hard to fault him for being frustrated. “Maybe I do want a new master. If I put in an application the Council will find out the truth about you.”

“It’s not a secret anymore. The fact that I’m here, my medical records. Master Dooku, Quinlan Vos, Bant, Garen, Siri, of course Master Che, they all know already. I admit it’s a little scary to think of Master Windu or Master Yoda finding out but they might already know.”

Anakin frowned. “I need to go to class.”

After his classes for the day finished Anakin headed straight for the dojo. He had thought that he wanted his master to quit drinking and be there for him, but now that he had finally stopped, Anakin was hurt and confused, angry at his master in a sort of delayed response and angry at himself for his reaction. He hated the uncharitable thoughts that flooded his brain.

“You look like you’re spoiling for a fight.” Master Fisto was already in the dojo, warming up. “I heard about Obi-Wan from Bant.” Maybe Obi-Wan was right about his alcoholism being old news.

Anakin channeled his frustration into a frenetic round of sparring, leaping about wildly in the Ataru style. If Qui-Gon had lived to be his master, none of this would have happened. He was not especially surprised when he lost all three rounds; he had trouble focusing because he struggled to release his anger into the Force.

Meanwhile, Master Dooku was visiting Obi-Wan again. “Anakin is still so angry. I worry about what I’ve done to him. It’s not the Jedi way to respond like that, but then, I haven’t been functional enough to teach him the Jedi way.”

“Some of his anger is a delayed response to years of grief. He may say he hates you, but that’s only because he’s struggling with his affection and worry.”

“I hope so. I don’t want to lose him.”

“You might, but you might not. I lost Qui-Gon, but you never know. You can apologize and try to make it up to him, but it’s up to him to forgive.”

“He’s behind in his training because of me. I know he was hoping to be knighted early because of his midichlorian count and status as the Chosen One.”

“I’ll talk to him. Where can I find him?”

“Probably in the dojo. He has a lot of frustration, after all.”

Sure enough, Master Dooku found Anakin resting after losing three matches to Master Fisto. “Hello Anakin. You want to rest for a while or do you want to take me on?”

“I’ll rest first. Nothing I do seems to help. I can’t calm my head.”

“You’re angry at your master and for good reason. Can you imagine how bad he feels about how he failed you?”

“For years I focused on him and his needs, at the expense of my own. Are you asking me to kriffing stuff it? You better not be. It’s high time I allowed myself to feel what I was suppressing. I don’t think I can forgive him, Master Dooku.”

“Qui-Gon never forgave me, either.” Master Dooku decided to ignore the colorful language.

Anakin looked up at his great-grand-master in surprise. “You were a drunk, too? I can’t imagine that.”

“I got sober twenty-seven years ago. I’m still an alcoholic, mind. I’ll always be one, but I’ve been sober a long time now. It’s possible to recover. No matter how many years I have, I still live one day at a time. It’s normal to grieve what you lost, what could have been, what should have been.”

“Why am I so angry only now, now that he’s sober?” Master Dooku noticed that Anakin’s normally sky-blue eyes were turning green.

“Relief, mostly. You can finally express the feelings you had pent up. You might be angry that you couldn’t tinker and repair him, and have to wait for him to fix himself. That’s a common reaction in boys, especially those who like to fix droids the way you do. Your reaction is normal.”

“I get so frustrated about wasting valuable time I could be training with my master. I still have so much to learn, and I was hoping to be knighted early.”

“Your master told me about your ambitions. It’s not your place to set the knighting schedule. Besides, you still go to your classes and train in saberwork with a variety of masters and knights. It’s not like your education is completely on hold. Besides, have you ever considered that this is happening to you for a reason, as part of your Force-ordained education? Maybe there are some valuable lessons in this for you that will help you become a knight in a timely manner. Your master isn’t trying to hold you back, I can assure you.”

Anakin looked down at his feet. “I suppose so. I hope so.”

“Are you ready for a match now? Makashi this time. Come on,” Master Dooku got up, shrugged off his outer layers, and pulled Anakin up onto his feet.

* * *

Darth Maul came to in a white room with all sorts of machines beeping and whirring. This must be a hospital room. The events of the last ten-day or so began to come back to him. He tried to lift his head to see his body. There, at the end of the bed, he saw his feet. Not the metal feet of the prosthetic legs he had worn before, but his real feet, red with black tattoos. To his amazement, the Stewjoni doctors had succeeded.

“Ah, you’re awake, Mr.—uh, Kenobi, sir.” A young nurse came into the room to check his vitals. Why was he addressing him as “Kenobi”?

“My name is not Kenobi.” It wouldn’t do to alarm these people too much. They might try to get him off spice if they thought it made him angry and violent. Better to play it cool and see how things worked out.

“We’re aware of that, sir. At least, it wasn’t Kenobi originally. It’s just that it was Mrs. Kenobi who brought you in, and she registered you under the Kenobi name. She claimed to be your mother by adoption.”

Darth Maul winced. Of all the women in the galaxy, how did he manage to find a Kenobi who would insist on adopting him?

“Any connection to Obi-Wan?”

“I should say so. Mrs. Kenobi is his mother. He’s my cousin, too. Dr. Minnear—my father—is Obi-Wan’s uncle.”

Darth Maul groaned. The last thing he wanted was to become a member of the Kenobi family. The old adage, “If you can’t beat them, join them” came into his head. Now when he finally managed to kill Obi-Wan he would be accused of fratricide. This was no worse than what his brothers had to do to each other, but he had a distinct feeling that this was not Stewjoni custom.

“Do your legs work? Can you feel them?”

Darth Maul tried and succeeded at twitching his toes. He smiled for the first time in a long time. He had his legs back. It would be a while before he could walk again, but he would get there. It would be lovely to get a nice hit of spice right now. He couldn’t ask the medical staff here.

After the nurse left, Darth Maul had a visitor. A young man, probably a few years younger than Kenobi, came in to see him. He had hazel eyes and dark blond hair cropped so short as to be nearly non-existent, but his face was basically the same as that of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Glad to see you awake. I’m Goro-Ban. My mother tells me you’re my new brother. We found empty deathstick casings in your pockets and spice paraphernalia. Maybe when you can walk again, you’d like to join me at my deathstick addiction recovery group. I’ve been clean for over a year now.”

“Darth Maul.” He introduced himself simply and stared at the young man. These people did want him off of spice and deathsticks for reasons beyond him. Maybe senseless cruelty was a classic Kenobi trait. Or did they want revenge for the deathstick epidemic on their planet?

“I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m sorry about what my brother did to you, cutting you off at the waist. I hope you get all of your function back, if you know what I mean. Your mechanical legs have been re-attached to the dishwasher droid thing.”

Incredible. These Kenobis were crazy, stupid, or both. They knew exactly who he was, and yet they were trying to help him anyway. Where was the sense in that? “How many of you are there?”

“There were five of us Kenobi brothers originally. One died in a speeder accident, one became a Jedi—you know him—and the rest of us are here on Stewjon. I guess you’re the sixth one. Darth-Maul Kenobi.”

Darth Maul could hear the hyphen in the spoken name. It occurred to him that hyphenated first names were a Kenobi trait, possibly a Stewjoni custom. He would eventually have to explain that his personal name was just Maul, and the “Darth” part was his Sith title and not part of his name. On the other hand, he could simply accept being Darth-Maul Kenobi, at least while he stayed on Stewjon. It might help him get quality spice if he could pass himself off as having local connections. What was he thinking? Nothing was worth being drafted into the Kenobi family. Darth Maul’s head was spinning so fast that he felt like he was going to fall down and crash, even though he was already lying down. He did, however, pass out.

* * *

“Can I take Obi-Wan out for a couple of hours? I promise to bring him right back here when we’re done.” Master Dooku was bargaining with Master Che. “He’s eating solid food, not on the IV anymore. His seizure risk is down at this point. I think he can handle it. There won’t be much walking or standing, mostly sitting.”

“All right. I think I know where you want to take him. You may. But be sure to bring him back, and don’t tire him out.”

Master Dooku came into Obi-Wan’s sickroom early to make sure he was up to the planned outing. He found Obi-Wan tugging on his overgrown beard. “I haven’t seen myself in the mirror in ages. I’m sure I look awful.”

“You look better than you did. Do you feel up to the meeting today? I think you’re ready for it, but you’re the final judge.”

“I think so. I’m not going there to pick up girls.”

Master Dooku chuckled. “That’s the spirit. You already have a wife anyway. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

When they arrived at the venue—inside the Jedi Temple, no less—Obi-Wan was surprised at how many faces he recognized. Master Dooku ushered him to a seat toward the front, next to himself. A Devaronian woman came up to have a look at Obi-Wan as soon as she realized that he was new. “Well, what have we got here.” She thrust her fingers into his hair before he even knew what hit him, then frowned when she saw that his hair was breaking off.

“Hello to you too. I wish you wouldn’t do that to my grandpadawan.” Master Dooku glared at the woman.

“Aw, but his hair is red. It’s irresistible.”

Oh no, not this again. Obi-Wan stiffened in his seat. Unpleasant memories of that mission came back to him as if it were yesterday. He drank a lot of whiskey on that mission to cope with it. Oh dear.

“Whatever color hair someone has, it’s still not correct to start playing with it unless you get permission from its owner first.” Master Dooku was good at looking disapproving.

“Spoilsport.” The woman backed off and took a seat on the other side of the room. Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief.

“I had a mission once to her planet and the whole thing was a nightmare. They were all just like that, only much worse. I drank a lot of whiskey.”

“She does that to every young male newcomer. It’s not personal, but still unpleasant. There’s one in every group, usually a man who preys on young women, but in this group that person is her. We call them thirteenth-steppers.”

Eventually the meeting started. A Wookiee called the meeting to order and began by leading the group in a recitation of the Jedi Code. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and joined in a small voice. Then the members of the group began introducing themselves in a ritualistic manner. “Yan, alcoholic.” Master Dooku introduced himself and the group repeated his name in chorus.

Finally it was Obi-Wan’s turn. “My name is Obi-Wan and I’m an alcoholic.” These words were much harder to say than he had ever imagined they would be; they caught in his throat. In this moment he felt like hanging his head down between his knees. Pathetic lifeform. He had finally lost. Obi-Wan felt a mixture of grief, shame, relief, pride, sadness, anger, and tentative joy. How could he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, admit to being an alcoholic? He was a complete failure as a Jedi, as a Kenobi, as a family man, as a lifeform. This was the end, but also the beginning.

“Anyone here new today? You, next to Yan. What did you say your name was?”

Obi-Wan stood up because he was being pointed at. “Obi-Wan. I’m still in detox at the Halls of Healing. I’ve been there for ten days.”

“A round of applause for Obi-Wan, at ten days! The most important person in the room is the newbie. Keep coming back, son.”

Obi-Wan sat back down again, mouth dry, face flushed red in embarrassment. Master Dooku gave his shoulder a little squeeze. “That was good, that took courage. It’ll get easier, don’t worry.”

A member of the group moved to the podium, shook hands with the Wookiee officiating, and began to tell her story. Obi-Wan sat, spell-bound, listening to a story that sounded rather like his own. This Togruta woman was a Jedi knight whom he did not know by name, but he was amazed at all the Code violations she admitted to, especially after she pointed out her master in the audience. How was she still a member of the Jedi Order after all the things she claimed she had done? And her master, too.

Obi-Wan was still reeling from all of this new information when the woman who had spoken put a hand on his shoulder as he poured himself a cup of tea. “Hey, you’re new. I’ve seen you around the Temple. I knew you were one of us. I’m glad you made it back to sanity. You’re Obi-Wan, right? I’m Argorria. We all use first-names only here, unless you decide you want to disclose your full name.”

“No, just Obi-Wan, I guess. I was amazed to hear you speak. Your story was so similar to mine, except that my master didn’t drink and I started drinking heavily after he was killed. I was scared about being kicked out of the Order before I came today.”

Argorria chuckled. “That’s a common fear. Some of us probably should have been kicked out of the Order. My master and I, for starters, but Yan too. You seem to be his new pigeon—”

Obi-Wan shot her a puzzled look. Pigeon? What was that?

“Like a padawan. Did he tell you about his rock bottom? He seems nice, but watch out. Ask him about his rock bottom. It’s not a story he’ll want to tell you. But I think you should know. As you start to recover physically and get more beautiful, you’ll see what I mean, if you’re unlucky. You’re still pretty young, aren’t you, under that long scraggly beard?”

“I’m thirty-one. I’m not sure if that’s young to you.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were older than me. You’re so skinny and I’ve seen so many brand-new knights try to look older by growing a beard that it backfires. I got so tired of being the youngest person and having old-timers tell me I couldn’t be an alcoholic because I was still a baby.”

“It’s all right. I have to go back to the Halls of Healing anyway.” Obi-Wan was almost relieved when Master Dooku came to get him.

Once he was safe in his sickbed again and Master Che was satisfied with his condition, she left him alone with Master Dooku. “The woman who spoke at the meeting, Argorria, she told me to ask about your rock bottom before I decide to be your pigeon. What is she talking about? She also thought I was young and beautiful, so I’m not sure whether to trust her judgement.”

Master Dooku sighed. “Yes, she has a good point. My rock bottom is still painful because it cost me Qui-Gon. I was drunk when it happened, of course. I came home late one night, drunk, and stumbled into Qui-Gon’s room. I told him he was beautiful and tried to kiss him. He was maybe twenty-one at the time. He was truly beautiful. I grabbed him by his braid and stroked his short padawan cut, trying to force my tongue into his mouth, completely missing the signals that he didn’t want a sexual relationship with me. He was already secretly dating Tahl, anyway. In the morning I didn’t really remember much of what I had done, but Qui-Gon had told Master Yoda he wanted a new master, although he wouldn’t say why. He tried to unilaterally sever our training bond, so I recommended him for his trials early. I didn’t want him to lose his chance to be a knight because of me. He didn’t want me around when you were younger because he was afraid I would sexually abuse you, too. I could never make it up to him, even though I would never do something like that sober. And I haven’t. Now I admit I’ve had secret lovers since then, both men and women, but everything I did with them was strictly consensual.”

Obi-Wan could only stare at his grand-master. “That’s what it was? Some things make more sense now. But I still trust you around Anakin and even around myself. It only happened once, right?”

“Just once. I won’t blame you if you decide you don’t want to be my pigeon.”

“Of course I do. If you’ll accept me as your padawan or pigeon or whatever.”

“Thank you.” Master Dooku patted Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I guess I should tell you the rest of the story. Of course I felt bad afterwards so I recommended him for his trials. That’s when I quit drinking, just like that. Qui-Gon did sit with me like this while we were waiting for my request to be processed. I was still in bad shape when it was approved. Qui-Gon broke his nose during his trials and one of his first decisions as a knight was to let his nose heal crooked. It was a statement aimed at me. Of course the super long hair was also an attempt to be less attractive to me. He was a good-looking boy, you know.”

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his own cropped hair, which did not seem to be breaking off as much as it had been. “I can’t imagine Qui-Gon with short hair. I know he must have had the padawan cut, but I just can’t imagine it. I think I understand him better now.”

“Are you going to grow your hair out again in solidarity with him?” Master Dooku had a playful look about his eyes.

“No, I’ll keep mine short. Everyone tells me I look better with short hair, and having seen one of my brothers with long hair I think I agree. My wife also seems to prefer it short. That’s another thing. Will I have to come clean about my secret family? I’m afraid I won’t be able to train my own daughter as a padawan.”

“That’s up to you. Don’t make decisions in a hurry. Your brain won’t be back to normal for half a year or so. Post-acute withdrawal is not going to be fun, let me warn you. Don’t make any life-changing decisions for at least a year.”

Meanwhile, Anakin came home from class to find his master’s comm beeping. “Skywalker.”

“Oh, hello, Anakin. Is your master there? It’s Mace Windu.”

“No, he’s not.” Anakin picked at his tunic hem, which was starting to fray.

“Where is he, then?”

“Halls of Healing.”

“What for?”

“Drying out. Goodbye, Master Windu.” Anakin hung up rather abruptly. He was not prepared to talk about his master’s decision to sequester himself in the Halls of Healing of all places, instead of being there for Anakin to the best of his ability, drunk, less drunk, or almost sober. Everything was still all about him. Anakin was not sure how he would feel to get his master back, sober and happy, all better now, when Anakin was still hurting. Would his master even notice?

Mace Windu had felt a shift in the Force, and meditating on it had produced a mental image of a certain Stewjoni knight as being at the center of it all. It made sense that the man was in the Halls of Healing. Mace Windu had met Master Yoda in the Temple gardens and they had confirmed that the shift they felt was centered on Knight Kenobi. When Master Windu was unable to reach him by comm, they decided to visit him in the Halls of Healing to see what was going on.

When they arrived at the sickroom bearing a plaque reading “Kenobi,” Master Windu stopped to read what it said under the name. “Managed acute withdrawal—alcohol.” Leave it to Master Healer Vokara Che to be blunt about these things. This meant that Master Yoda’s suspicions were correct, as they would be, having gone through this with Master Dooku nearly thirty years ago.

As soon as they entered, Master Yoda’s green ears perked up. Master Windu felt it too. Obi-Wan’s Force presence was going back to normal, clearing up. He must be sober, then. Master Dooku returned from the fresher and greeted them, alerting Obi-Wan to the presence of visitors.

“Master Yoda, Master Windu.” Obi-Wan smiled and waved, and the two Council members noted with alarm just how thin Obi-Wan’s arm was. They could see his fragile-looking frame easily enough.

“I’m in violation of the Code in many ways. I’ll take any punishment, but none of it is Anakin’s fault. He deserves to be reassigned to a better master.”

“What did I tell you about not making big changes in your life in the first year? I know you’re more focused on Anakin’s life, but it affects your life too, you know.” Master Dooku looked at Obi-Wan and then his own master.

“Right, my padawan is. Heal first you must, Obi-Wan. Then any Code violations we can examine.”

“I’ll probably be expelled.” Obi-Wan’s eyes, while they had been their original blue again lately, turned grey with worry. “I just hope it doesn’t harm Anakin.”

“Worry about your padawan you should not. If the Code you know you have violated, then read the Code you have, eh? A better Jedi than most must you be if read the Code enough to condemn yourself you have.”

Obi-Wan blinked. Master Yoda certainly had a point. You could only be guilty of willfully disobeying the rules if you knew what they were. In that case, Obi-Wan was certainly guilty. He thought of the list of his wrongs that he had made for Master Dooku. If Master Yoda saw it, he would understand. Obi-Wan did not deserve to call himself a Jedi anymore.

“We’re just glad to see you being properly cared for, and I’m relieved that your Force presence is clearing up, too. Anakin will adjust. He’s young, he can adapt. Besides, this is a change for the better. Well, I guess we better go, before we wear you out.” Master Windu could sense that his comm was going to beep in the next few minutes or so, and did not want to be in the Halls of Healing when that happened.

As the two Council members saw themselves out, Master Dooku followed them out into the hall. “A word. When Obi-Wan was first detoxing, I was holding his hand, and his weakened mental shields allowed me to see his visions and hallucinations with him. One vision, which he told me has been recurring, is of the Supreme Chancellor. Apparently it was the Supreme Chancellor who gave him a bottle of whiskey at Qui-Gon’s funeral, and Obi-Wan says that was when he started to use alcohol to cope. Anyway, in his visions, if he accepts the bottle or the drink, the Supreme Chancellor is nice and smiling, but if he refuses, it turns into a red lightsaber and the Supreme Chancellor’s eyes turn yellow and he becomes the mysterious Sith master. It’s only a hallucination, I’m sure, but a troubling one, if Obi-Wan thinks the Supreme Chancellor is a Sith lord.”

“Dismissed this possibility, have you, padawan? Obi-Wan not the confused one is. All possibilities must we consider. Very interesting this vision is.”

Master Dooku and Master Windu glanced at each other before focusing on the tiny green master. “You mean, you think it’s possible that the Supreme Chancellor is the Sith master we’ve been looking for?” Master Dooku was the one who said it out loud. It seemed absurd, and yet, there was something about the notion that he couldn’t quite dismiss outright. Master Dooku thought back on his own drinking career, and realized with a start that he, too, had been given a bottle of rum at his knighting more than forty years ago, and that that bottle had started everything. Who had given it to him? He had forgotten all about it until just now. It had been a senator. Wait a minute, now he remembered. It was the senator from Naboo. Chills went up and down his spine at this thought.

“I just remembered. It was the senator from Naboo who started me on my drinking career all those years ago.” Master Dooku shook his head as he said it. How could he have been so blind? Of course. There had been something emotionally familiar about Obi-Wan’s vision and account of getting hooked on the booze following a gift from the Supreme Chancellor.

“Sheev Palpatine, now Supreme Chancellor.” Mace Windu observed, a carefully neutral expression on his face.

“Not that I blame him for my addiction or anything terrible I did while in the throes of that addiction; my actions are my own responsibility. The same goes for Obi-Wan. But there is a trend here. The Supreme Chancellor also gave a bottle of rum to Knight Garen Muln on his knighthood, but Garen hardly drinks at all, according to Obi-Wan. He may be in the misguided but well-meaning habit of giving alcohol as knighting gifts and have no nefarious intent—"

“But nefarious intent you suspect.” Master Yoda nodded sagely, his ears bobbing along with his head. He closed his large green eyes in thought, then opened them again. “Observe we will. May the Force be with you.”

With that, the two Council members went on their way.


	25. Picking up the Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin resents the intrusion of having his master suddenly hands-on after years of being a latchkey kid. Obi-Wan puts in the work, one day at a time, to come back stronger and wiser than before.

When Obi-Wan was discharged from the Halls of Healing and finally came home, Master Dooku in tow, he was dismayed to see the alcohol bottles lined up on the kitchen table. Garen was there from having picked Anakin up after his afternoon classes. He seemed relieved to see Master Dooku present.

“We already disposed of the empties, which made up a good two-thirds of the bottles we found. Sad and strange sort of treasure hunt it was. Anakin consolidated the remaining bottles, so we threw away more empties, and this is what is left. Seven bottles of different things. I had no idea you were so fond of utoz. I read the label on one of the bottles. That was strong stuff.”

“And I drank it by the gallon.” Obi-Wan hung his head. He was not proud of his alcohol intake. Even while he was still drinking, he was not especially proud of the amount he consumed; it was an expensive nuisance, really, to have to drink so much just to be able to feel normal.

“What do you want to do with the bottles?”

“I can’t keep them here. I don’t trust myself. I’ll also want to make another sweep of the place, with you present, to make sure you got them all. I’m almost afraid that making a ritual out of dumping them out will jinx my recovery somehow. I don’t know what I want to do with them.”

Garen looked a bit disgusted for a moment, until Master Dooku chimed in. “That’s a normal reaction. I can’t keep any kind of alcohol in my home either. Maybe I could, at this point, but it’s not worth the risk. It’s the same thing about dumping the contents. It feels wrong somehow.”

“Are you saying you want me to take these home?” Garen asked, a mixture of horror, curiosity, indignation, and puzzlement playing across his face.

“You’re the only adult here who’s not an alcoholic. If I give them to you, they’re yours to do whatever you like with them, so I won’t worry about it. You can drink them, dump them, give them away, fly your ship with them, whatever you want.” Obi-Wan was doing his best to make this sound reasonable.

Garen looked at Master Dooku more intently as it dawned on him the implication of what Obi-Wan was saying. He could sense that there were the beginnings of a training bond of sorts forming between them.

“All right. I’ll take them home. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them, though. I guess it doesn’t matter. Maybe I really will put them into my engine, especially the utoz. I bet that would work. That stuff was industrial grade.”

Once they had confirmed that there were no more hidden bottles and Garen had hauled all the bottles away with Anakin’s help, Master Dooku also left Obi-Wan’s apartment, so that Obi-Wan was alone. He had not seen himself properly in a mirror since before Tatooine. Force, what a sight he must look.

Sure enough, his face was haggard, although the skin was looking better and his nose was less red, and he had quite a long, messy beard that made him look like he slept in the street. Obi-Wan played with his beard. He was a padawan again, this time under Master Dooku. He was going to make a clean break with his drunken past self. Obi-Wan reached for the scissors in the fresher cabinets, hacked off the length, then picked up Anakin’s can of shaving cream and his old razor. He would have to be careful not to cut himself with the old blade.

When Anakin returned to the apartment and saw his master without his beard, he felt a flash of resentment. Did his master really think he could just erase the past seven years and reset things between them? On the other hand, part of him wanted to embrace his master, who had finally truly come back to him the way he had been in the beginning. Instead he just stared.

“Master Windu and Master Yoda came to visit me. They knew.” Obi-Wan stated simply. Anakin felt betrayed again. The Council knew his master was a drunk and did nothing? Even now, he was not focused on Anakin, but on Master Dooku. Anakin could feel that there was a new training bond in his master’s mind, and he could not help but feel displaced.

Obi-Wan was still too weak to spar in the dojo, but he did come to watch Anakin. Asajj Ventress and Master Dooku were there as well, Alema in tow. They kindly refrained from saying anything about Obi-Wan’s newly bare face or his cleft chin that neither Alema nor Asajj Ventress had ever seen before. Master Dooku said nothing as well, just smiling slightly as if to say that it was completely normal to try to remake one’s appearance to indicate a profound change in one’s inner life.

As Obi-Wan watched Anakin spar with Alema, he felt strong pangs of guilt. He saw that Anakin did not warm up with training katas, and that his saberwork was a crazy quilt of a variety of styles—not built on a solid foundation, but catch-as-catch-can. Oh dear. What the boy lacked in discipline and foundational skills, he made up for in raw talent and strength. This was all right for sparring among padawans, but would not do at all in the field, faced with real threats.

“I can see you worked with him quite a lot. Thank you. I also see that I have my work cut out for me. He has bad habits that I let take root through my negligence. That’s my responsibility, I don’t fault you, but still.” Obi-Wan shook his head. Master Dooku shot him a sympathetic glance. He remembered well a similar sense of horror when he realized just how much he had failed to teach Qui-Gon.

After Anakin and Alema finished their match—Alema won, of course—Obi-Wan got up and began to go through the very first training katas he had learned as an Initiate. In his weakened state this was physically demanding, although muscle memory did help. It seemed right to start again at the very beginning. He knew he had a long way to go. If Anakin saw his master paying attention to his basics, perhaps he would be willing to, as well. This was so important.

Alema was more interested in this performance than Anakin was. She watched Obi-Wan with great interest, causing Anakin to wonder if he was missing something. It was easy to forget that Obi-Wan had once been known as a talented swordsman. Attention to basics was part of his secret, a fact that Alema had heard many times from her grand-master. “Go on, join him, Anakin. Let’s see your form.” Asajj Ventress gently prodded the junior padawan. Obi-Wan knew in his mind that his friend had largely taken over Anakin’s training in the dojo, but it was still rather jarring to see this in action, to see Anakin responding to her as if she were his master.

Watching master and padawan go through the basics side by side, it was obvious to Asajj Ventress where Anakin needed work. Patience had never been his strong suit, so it was clear that he had avoided anything he found tedious, preferring to practice fancy moves instead of basics. Asajj Ventress took notes on Anakin’s weaknesses out of habit, then realized that she wouldn’t have to be his main trainer if his master was this functional.

Obi-Wan had noticed her taking notes, however, and decided to use them. Some continuity would be good for all of them, and he wanted to see what exactly it was that she had been teaching his padawan.

After they had gone through the basic katas once, Obi-Wan stopped, a bit winded, and asked Asajj Ventress to share her findings. For the most part they matched his own observations. Good. There were some things that she didn’t catch however; this was natural, since she did not have a training bond with Anakin. Obi-Wan fished out a stylus and some flimsi from the pockets of his cloak, which he had left by the benches. In the past his pockets contained his hidden stashes of booze. He began to sketch what he saw wrong with Anakin’s form, then what his padawan’s form should look like. Alema was the one who gasped at the surprising beauty and skill of the pictures. Who knew that Obi-Wan had artistic talent? She had only heard stories about his singing and not heard it herself, so this secret strength was fun to witness.

“You need to watch your elbows, and your shoulder line here. Legwork is good. Can you see the difference between your stance and the correct form?” Obi-Wan showed Anakin the sketches. Now that he could not demonstrate the moves so easily anymore, this would have to do until he could get his strength back.

“I want to try a round of those basic katas, too.” Alema caught Obi-Wan’s eye and smirked conspiratorially. Ah, the teacher’s pet. Just like Siri at that age. Obi-Wan’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he got up and urged Anakin back onto the training space, then motioned for Alema to join. This time Obi-Wan did not hesitate to stop either of them to make corrections. He could drill this not just for Anakin but for himself as well if he made judicious stops to allow himself to rest for a moment.

After he was satisfied with Anakin’s improvements he let the two padawans spar again, watching both carefully. Asajj Ventress was doing the same. It felt so good to be actively participating in his own padawan’s training again. Obi-Wan realized that he could make a series of diagrams for Alema to study if she still wanted to try Soresu. It would be a while before he could demonstrate it properly, never mind spar with her, but this was something he could do today. He enjoyed making the sketches and diagrams and adding notes to the margins.

Next, he let Asajj Ventress spar with Anakin while he handed his impromptu Soresu manual to Alema. Her eyes grew wide with delight and her lekku twitched in excitement when she realized what he had done. She would study this on her own so that he could inspect her progress next time.

“You know, swimming and even just walking in the pool is a good way to build strength back.” Master Dooku tried out sending a message across his nascent training bond with Obi-Wan. “I don’t have to tell you how I know this.” A wistful smirk on his grand-master’s face told Obi-Wan all he needed to know about that.

Obi-Wan felt tired and sore, but happy when they left the dojo late that afternoon. He had missed this more than he realized. There were so many things he used to enjoy that he had quite forgotten about. Swimming sounded good, as did brewing a nice pot of tea, even cooking dinner at home almost every day. Master Dooku had warned him to ease back into a normal life; surely this qualified.

Obi-Wan hung up his cloak on a peg by the front door of their apartment and checked the contents of the cooling unit. It was almost empty. He would need to go shopping for actual food. When was the last time he had been to a grocery store and bought vegetables instead of making a targeted strike on the liquor aisle?

Anakin was silently fuming. Now that he had his master back in the dojo, trying to insert himself into training at this late stage, he was regressing Anakin back to the beginning of their partnership. Worse, Alema seemed to adore him. She never had to live with him drunk day in day out, year after year, so it was easy for her to find him charming and informative now. Anakin had been perfectly happy with Master Ventress’ instruction, since he had given up on his own master a long time ago. Obi-Wan had had brief interludes of being fairly sober and functional in the past as well; it was cruel to foster hope in Anakin yet again.

“Anakin, let’s go grocery shopping. How about vegetable stew tonight?”

How could his master be so insensitive as to think they were completely back to a happy past in the early years of their lives together? Anakin was not a little youngling anymore, he was sixteen, and used to taking care of not only himself but his drunken master and all the houseplants as well. He nodded noncommittally, but there was no escape, since his master had already grabbed his cloak and bag of credits.

Once they reached the nearest little grocery store where they used to shop together when Anakin was younger, the memories were bittersweet. Obi-Wan seemed happy as he picked up the familiar staple vegetables he used to always have in the cooling unit, along with frozen meat and fish. It was not until they passed the liquor aisle on the way to the checkout line that Anakin understood the true reason his master had wanted his presence. Obi-Wan expected Anakin to be his keeper, to make sure he didn’t cave in to temptation and add a bottle of utoz to his cart. Of all the dirty, rotten tricks!

Obi-Wan could sense that his apprentice was angry by the time they got home, but could not imagine why. He wanted Anakin to see that he could go shopping without buying alcohol. The boy deserved to see his master make an effort to be trustworthy again, and seeing is believing. Perhaps some stew would help. Obi-Wan set to work on the mindless task of peeling tubers and chopping root vegetables for his signature dish, looking forward to the meditative nature of the job. He should have started to thaw the meat cubes right at the beginning, but he forgot. Midway through peeling a tuber, Obi-Wan had to stop. Why was he so distracted and confused? He had done this countless times before. On the other hand, it had also been a long time since he had truly meditated, as well.

Anakin remained sullen during dinner, although he did eat two helpings and wash up afterwards. He was a growing boy who would almost certainly overtake Obi-Wan in height soon. It was good to see him eat. He slipped away to his room to tinker with something after dinner, not wanting to interact with his master. Obi-Wan felt like he almost understood this, since he had been nearly absent from the boy’s life for a long time but was suddenly back. Change was often jarring, especially if it was not of your own design.

Obi-Wan sat at the kitchen table over a cup of tea when Master Dooku came by. “You want to come to the evening meeting? You really should, it’s helpful to go to ninety meetings in ninety days, especially at the very beginning. Give Anakin a break, since it’ll take him a while to adjust to having you fully alert again. Come on.”

Obi-Wan popped his head into Anakin’s room to tell him. He did not trust their training bond anymore, since he had a feeling that Anakin would simply try to shut him out. His shielding would not be very good, since Obi-Wan had not worked with him very much on it the past few years, but it would be damaging and rude to pry.

Anakin barely looked up. As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed. His master was still going out in the evening with people neither of them knew well, only now he was simply going to talk about drinking instead of actually drinking. It was a lame alternative as far as Anakin was concerned.

That night, Obi-Wan found that he could not sleep, even though Master Che had declared his body completely detoxed before discharging him. He had not ingested any alcohol that day, and restricted himself to herbal teas at the meeting. Obi-Wan had forgotten how much he loved unadulterated tea. It was soothing in its warmth and natural leafy scent, plus it brought back happy memories of Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan realized that he had never allowed himself to work through his grief at losing his own master seven years ago.

The other Jedi alcoholics who shared their stories at the meeting also had similar struggles with attachments, although some of them had painful injuries that first got them to rely on alcohol as a means to cope. Argorria was not at this meeting, although Obi-Wan did recognize a few knights and masters he had seen in the refectory on occasion. They seemed to recognize him, too. It was both reassuring and disappointing to discover that Obi-Wan was far from special and alone in his condition.

He kept waking up sweaty and with labored breathing, anxious about nothing in particular. Why was he still having hangover symptoms a good fourteen days after his last drink? He had been fine in the Halls of Healing. Was it because he was back in his familiar bed again, where he had spent so many nights in a drunken stupor?

Obi-Wan struggled to wake up in the morning, but felt he needed to get up and make a proper breakfast. He wondered what Anakin had done in the mornings these past few years. Obi-Wan felt guilty about missing almost all of Korkie’s life, but what about the parts of Anakin’s life that he had missed? No wonder the boy was angry. Oh yes, he must not forget. Obi-Wan took a moment to thank the Force for another sober day yesterday, and to ask for help in staying sober today as well, one day at a time.

Obi-Wan went to the pool after dropping Anakin off at his morning classes and tried to swim. He really should have done some warming up exercises first. Obi-Wan found that he had trouble holding his breath and swimming a whole lap, never mind the fifty laps he used to be able to swim. On the other hand, that giddy, lightheaded feeling that went with a lack of oxygen was a little too close to feeling tipsy. He saw green splotches straight ahead of him, so he opted to walk in the pool for a few laps instead. Even this was harder physically than he had anticipated.

Anakin frowned when he spotted his master at the refectory at lunchtime. This was like old times, but there was something annoying about the excessively perky demeanor his master was putting on, as if he were drunk again and trying to hide it. Anakin was wary of being put in the role of sobriety police, but could not help sitting right next to his master, close enough to smell him. Obi-Wan did smell oddly sweaty and like chlorine from the pool, but he did not seem intoxicated. He had a couple of fingers lightly perched at his temple, the way he often did when he had a headache. Anakin did his best not to flinch when his master put his other arm around him and pulled him close, as if he were a little crecheling. This was embarrassing in itself.

“The food is so good.” Obi-Wan commented at last. What a strange thing to say. The food was neither good nor bad in Anakin’s view, although he hated to admit that his master’s cooking was better. On the other hand, his master had not eaten properly for a long time. He was starting to look healthier, although he was still much too thin.

In the afternoon Obi-Wan drilled himself in the basic katas in the dojo over and over, taking breaks as necessary, drinking from his thermos—now one hundred percent tea—until Master Dooku found him and whisked him off to yet another meeting. Some of the tales told by Temple staff were eye-opening. They did not have to stay celibate or childless, so stories of parents failing their own children in spectacular ways were less shocking than they would be if told by Jedi, but still disturbing. Obi-Wan thought of his own little daughter in the creche. He should go see her.

Obi-Wan stopped by the creche that very day. It had been several years since he was a familiar fixture there, so only the younglings who had been very small when Alema became a padawan were still there. The younger ones did not have any idea who he was. Why would they, he had done nothing exciting or legendary of late, and his apparent killing of the Sith was neither recent nor an actual killing. Darth Maul even had his original legs back. So much, and yet so little had changed in seven years.

Aha, there was Deltine. She smiled when she saw him and ran to him, falling down along the way but picking herself up. He had a feeling that Anakin would have stayed put where he fell and wailed loudly at that age. On the other hand, Deltine was a Kenobi with a genetic predisposition to stubborn determination as well as addiction. Oh no. What if Korkie or Deltine grew up to be alcoholics, too? If there was a strong genetic element to it, then Obi-Wan had likely passed on the risk factors. He had had no business reproducing in the first place, and yet now he had two children who were growing up without his parental involvement but with his genetic flaws. What a pathetic excuse for a father he was. Obi-Wan shook his head to clear his thoughts. _Don’t center on your anxieties, Obi-Wan_ , he heard in Qui-Gon’s voice. _You’re here for your daughter right now. Focus on her in the present_.

Deltine smiled and gurgled when he picked her up and hugged her. The crechemaster would think he was simply her uncle, since this was the official story, but it was so satisfying to hold his little girl in his arms. What if she called him “Dada”? He could simply correct her in front of the others, and wait until she was older, perhaps his padawan, before he told her the truth.

Obi-Wan was holding Deltine, his face buried in her red hair that matched his own, when he felt a tug on his robe. He looked down and saw a young Togruta girl. “Do you remember me, Master Kenobi?”

“Why, yes, I do, Ahsoka. You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you. How old are you now?”

“I’m twelve. I’m going to be a padawan!”

“Congratulations! Who is going to be your master?”

“Argorria Motigora. I really like her. She’s young and lively, and a Togruta like me.”

“I know her. I’m happy for both of you.”

Obi-Wan had returned to the dojo for some more solo drilling of Soresu katas when Anakin and Alema got out of class. He would need the katas to be fresh in his mind if he was to help either of them learn them. It had been humbling to struggle with his memory of them earlier; he never thought he would forget, but he had the distinct feeling that his brain was broken. Would he ever get his memory and concentration back? He had a sinking feeling that he would flunk Anakin’s tests if he had to sit for them today. Thinking was such a struggle nowadays.

“Master, is my brain permanently destroyed? I can’t think, remember, or concentrate. I can’t sleep, either.” Obi-Wan tried out sending a message to Master Dooku over their new training bond. He knew the proper term was “sponsor,” but he reverted to “Master” out of habit.

“No, that’s just post-acute withdrawal symptoms. Loads of fun, aren’t they?” The response came back loud and clear. “You have anywhere between thirty days and half a year to enjoy this. My symptoms lasted about a hundred twenty days. Sorry. On the other hand, it’s a powerful motivator to never drink again. It keeps you humble.”

Anakin declined his master’s offer to work on Soresu basics, but Alema was excited to try. Anakin used to react that way whenever Obi-Wan offered to teach him saberwork, but how times had changed. Obi-Wan had only himself to blame. Perhaps Anakin would change his mind as he watched Obi-Wan coach Alema.

Asajj Ventress noticed Obi-Wan doing a little more actual demonstration than yesterday. It was not hard for her to guess that he had worked on them by himself earlier. Master Fisto, who came into the dojo for his own solo practice session, noticed Obi-Wan back in action and smiled. Humans looked so puny when they got that thin, but at least Obi-Wan was making a comeback.

Again Obi-Wan drew diagrams and illustrations for Alema, who seemed on the verge of asking him to autograph them as if he were a famous artist. Anakin looked on in irritation. Obi-Wan was his master, not hers, and yet she was getting the full benefit of his sobriety without having had to suffer through his active addiction. This was unfair and insensitive on his master’s part.

At that moment Asajj Ventress’ comm went off. She and Alema would be going on a mission. Alema’s Soresu lessons would have to wait. On the other hand, the girl could study the manual that Obi-Wan had made for her. Anakin felt his stomach tying up in knots at the thought of being stuck, alone, with his own master in the dojo for however long Asajj Ventress and Alema were away. He felt his master trying to send reassurance through their training bond, but he hastily erected the strongest shields he could. Obi-Wan had long since forfeited any right to enter Anakin’s mind, as far as the padawan was concerned.


	26. Welcoming Senator Amidala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan faces his first party sober, and discovers it's hard to prove a negative. Anakin is giddy for other reasons. Jar-Jar is seen but not heard.

“Let’s meditate together, Anakin. Your shielding needs work.” Obi-Wan sounded so normal and chipper about this that it set Anakin’s teeth on edge. The whole reason why Anakin’s meditation and mental defenses were not what they should be at his age was because of his master’s failure, and yet his master thought he could suddenly pop up into his training again and pick up where he left off. The nerve! On the other hand, Anakin was not sure what he would rather his master did, since it was only right for Obi-Wan to fix the errors he himself had made. He was trying to make amends and mitigate lasting damage to Anakin, and yet the boy had a hard time accepting. It was not fair to his master, but Anakin could not change how he felt.

Obi-Wan sat both of them down on their meditation mats, which he had had to wash first because of the dust. He would guide Anakin through this and try to accelerate the normal program, since there was so much catching up to do. This would be challenging for Obi-Wan as well, since he had gotten out of practice. It was strange to meditate again instead of drink, like encountering an old friend whom one should never have lost track of in the first place. He still felt like his brain was broken, but then, he had only been sober for thirty days now. Thirty days already! Obi-Wan knew it was dangerous to get complacent or try to anticipate his next milestone, since it was far from assured that he would reach it, but looking back over the past thirty days, he remembered a time not long ago when he would have been incredulous about the prospect of making it this long. One day at a time.

Both of them emerged in a state that was half refreshed and half exhausted after an hour or so of joint meditation. Obi-Wan felt like a padawan again, letting Qui-Gon into his mind to guide his meditation as a very young teenager. It was bittersweet to use the same methods and lessons with Anakin, since he knew he was not even half of the teacher that Qui-Gon had been, but it was comforting to feel his nearness, if only in memory. Anakin was older now than Obi-Wan had been at this level, but that was Obi-Wan’s own fault anyway.

For his part, Anakin was beginning to accept that his master was serious about not drinking anymore. The goal, of course, was to never drink alcohol again for the rest of his life, but it seemed odd to him that Obi-Wan never dared to say that directly. In the beginning he had said merely that he was staying sober one day at a time, which sounded to Anakin like he fully intended to drink again someday, probably soon, but that did not seem to be what he meant. The endless meetings as well Anakin had come to accept as real, and not excuses to sneak drinks, since his master always came home still sober after them. What a sad state of affairs that a padawan as talented as Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One himself, could not immediately trust his own master!

That was when they received an invitation to a small welcoming party in the Senate. Neither had had any recent dealings with senators, since they had not been sent on any missions for a long time now, but Anakin’s heart skipped a beat when he realized that the honoree was none other than Senator Padme Amidala herself. He had not realized that she was not going to be queen for life, but this was almost better, since she would be on Coruscant most of the time. He could look at the nighttime traffic and artificial nightscape and imagine her looking at the same scene.

Obi-Wan was starting to fill out a bit, but was still much thinner than he had been the last time he saw the former queen of Naboo. With any luck she would chalk that up to natural aging, since his Jedi robes obscured his body shape. It was her welcoming party, and she had been kind enough to invite him, so he did not want her to spend time and energy expressing concern over a problem that was in the process of resolving itself. As a senator she had much more important things to do. He had grown back a very short beard to help camouflage his gaunt cheeks by now, as well. Obi-Wan was blissfully unaware of the effect of his light stubble on many of the female Jedi he interacted with on a regular basis, including Argorria.

There was always the risk that Supreme Chancellor Palpatine would be at the party, trying to encourage everyone to drink. The freshman senator was perhaps twenty-one by now, over the legal drinking age on every planet in the galaxy. Obi-Wan had not considered before just how young she still was; she was only three years or so older than Alema, and perhaps five years older than Anakin. Senator Amidala had seemed so mature when she was queen.

Master Dooku was not invited to the party, which worried Obi-Wan. He really wanted a sober buddy, mostly for moral support. If the Supreme Chancellor truly had been deliberate about fostering Obi-Wan’s drinking problem, then he would not be so likely to relent now. This part of the whole prospect gave him a sinking feeling, but he knew Anakin was excited about seeing Senator Amidala. The boy would also be watching his master, not quite trusting him to say no to alcohol. Force, would there even be any non-alcoholic drinks at the party? Surely there would be, if sixteen-year-old Anakin was invited.

“I’m concerned about Senator Amidala’s welcoming party,” Obi-Wan confided in Master Dooku over their training bond. “I don’t want to drink, but I’m not entirely sure that I won’t, especially if the Supreme Chancellor is there. I used to drink with him in his office, so it will be hard to escape his expectations that I drink whatever he offers me. He will be hurt if I avoid him entirely, since we were sort of friends.”

Master Dooku was not sure what to tell his grandpadawan about the Supreme Chancellor’s intentions, so all he could say was to keep in touch with him over their training bond, sending an emergency message if necessary.

The day of the party, the master and padawan pair arrived at the venue, which was one of the smaller reception rooms off of the main Senate chamber, in their newest robes and both with hair freshly trimmed. Anakin felt less ashamed of his master’s appearance today than he had in a long time. At least he looked neat, clean, and sober, with his nose and eyes no longer so red and puffy-looking. Given the mysterious tendency of women to find his master attractive for reasons entirely beyond Anakin’s ken, he was a little concerned that Senator Amidala would also fall under the unwitting Kenobi charm, although he was more concerned that his master would succumb again to the siren call of booze.

A quick glance around the room revealed that the Kenobi-Skywalker pair were the only Jedi invited. Sure enough, there was the Supreme Chancellor, adding that sweet brandy to kaf before offering it to guests. There was also a Gungan, whom Obi-Wan recognized as none other than Jar-Jar Binks himself, holding a bottle of rum. That was an accident waiting to happen. As much as it would be nice to chat with good old Jar-Jar and reminisce, Obi-Wan decided it prudent to keep a safe distance, lest Jar-Jar spill that rum onto him or into his non-alcoholic drink.

There she was. Anakin realized that he was holding his breath when he saw the beautiful young Senator Amidala in the middle of the room, laughing and smiling in her genteel, diplomatic, but still genuinely warm manner. She was more beautiful than he remembered, with more of her natural face on display. The gown she wore, while it did not show much skin with its long, flared sleeves and high lace collar with cutaway detailing, still showed her figure with the nipped in waist. He resisted the urge to stride right up to her and throw his arms around her. That would be uncouth. Besides, he had no guarantee she liked him back. _Play it cool, Skywalker_ , he told himself.

Her eyes came to rest on him as he approached. “Ani? My goodness, you’ve grown!” she kept the tone polite, but Anakin realized with a start that she had not spent the last seven years dreaming about him as her ideal man, the way he had focused on her as his dream girl. Why would she, he had been a little slave boy nine years old the last time she saw him, while she had been a mature, confident, beautiful teenager.

“So have you, milady. More beautiful, I mean. Well, for a senator, I mean.” Ugh, why was this so hard? Anakin noticed that his master had slipped into position behind him to rescue him if need be, which was even more embarrassing.

Senator Amidala gave him an awkward smile, shook her head, and said the worst thing imaginable. “And you’ll always be that little boy I knew on Tatooine.” She widened the smile a bit, but her eyes remained neutral as she turned away. Anakin was crestfallen. He was still just a child to her.

Then, she suddenly turned her head back towards them and broke into a genuine smile. Anakin began to entertain hope again, when she uttered the cruel words. “It’s been far too long, Master Kenobi!” She extended her hand to shake his master’s. Even Anakin could see in her eyes that she had also spent the last seven years dreaming of someone, and that someone was not himself but his master. Ouch.

Obi-Wan smiled politely but lowered his gaze. “It’s good to see you again, milady.” He saw out of the corner of his eye that the Supreme Chancellor was observing the scene intently. It would not do for the young Senator to be suspected of impropriety towards Jedi at her welcoming party, in front of her superior. The last thing Obi-Wan needed was a scandal if he were to be seen to be encouraging any such inappropriate attention toward himself.

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s grandfatherly smile stayed intact the whole time he was watching, and widened a bit when he was confident that Obi-Wan was looking. “Ah, Knight Kenobi, long time no see. It’s lovely, isn’t it, for all of us to be reunited under happier circumstances?”

Obi-Wan had to agree to the sentiment, although he questioned the taste of reminding Anakin and himself of Qui-Gon’s funeral at Senator Amidala’s welcome party. Even though he was not the honoree, the supreme chancellor had a way of being at the center of any gathering. He still held a bottle of sweet brandy.

“Would you care for some Naboo kaf, Knight Kenobi? Or, Padawan Skywalker, I must say you’ve grown up right under my very eyes.”

“No thank you. I believe that teapot next to you contains a rare blended tea native to Naboo, am I correct?” Obi-Wan was not prepared to announce to this crowd that he was now thirty days sober, because of the implications regarding what he was before. It was all right to admit to being an alcoholic in private, around other alcoholics and people who knew the way he drank before, but most of these people were strangers to him, and he did not want them to get the impression that the Jedi Order wasted taxpayer money on drunken fools and pathetic lifeforms.

“So it does. I’m impressed with your knowledge of the delicacies and fine exports of my home planet.” The supreme chancellor continued to smile, but his eyes were not as friendly as before. “Padawan Skywalker?”

“No thank you, I’m only sixteen.” Kriff, this was painful to have to admit in public, especially in front of that beautiful angel who was a grown-up woman, while he was legally a child on Coruscant, no matter how skilled a pilot or mechanic he was, or the fact that he was a Jedi with a real lightsaber.

“That’s too bad. On Naboo it would not have been illegal at all, since you are accompanied by your legal guardian, who would drink with you and show you the rules of the game, so to speak.” The supreme chancellor seemed to be rubbing in how young Anakin still was while flattering his ego as a nearly-grown young man at the same time. “I have heard that you are an exceptionally-talented young man. We shall continue to watch your career with great interest.”

Obi-Wan got a strange feeling at the back of his occipital bone, as if something were trying to break out from the inside. He was not certain what exactly it was, whether it was simply one of the intense headaches that seemed to be part of his post-acute withdrawal symptoms, or perhaps a bug of some kind trying to bite right where the back of his hair tapered down to his neatly-clipped neckline, but it had occurred to him that the Force was warning him about letting this man get too close to Anakin.

“Yes, thank you, Supreme Chancellor. It’s my pleasure to be responsible for his training. Have you met Senator Milew, my very young apprentice?” _How dare the chancellor try to push alcohol on a child right in front of his newly-sober guardian_ , Obi-Wan thought to himself, _especially when the boy was still so very young_.

Obi-Wan himself had not actually met Senator Hrod Milew of Merisee, but now he finally had a chance to get a feel for the man. He was aware that Senator Amidala was watching out of the corner of her eye while she pretended to be utterly charmed by some greasy ancient politician. If she were a Jedi, he could communicate with her nonverbally more easily, but he would have to settle for the remains of her silly teenaged crush on him for her heightened awareness of his whereabouts in the room. Obi-Wan had a sense from long ago that she was uncorrupted and trustworthy, if young and naïve.

“Ah, Master Jedi.” Senator Milew of course had never met Obi-Wan, but more than likely had seen the photographs in the media coverage of the wild goose chase that was the Loag assassin investigation, for there was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. He looked Obi-Wan up and down, eyes settling on the teacup in his hand.

“It’s nice to see you, Senator. I enjoyed your hospitality a couple of years ago on Merisee. Tozzin Foods has some truly impressive facilities.” Obi-Wan decided not to mention the Loag scare itself or the Utozz Prime Brewery. He could feel Anakin’s eyes grow wider at the mention of the planet name. Truth be told, Obi-Wan did not really know what Senator Milew looked like either, but having seen the inhabitants of Merisee he could easily guess which one of the invitees was him. It also helped that he had used a fairly loud stage whisper to get Anakin to follow him, away from the supreme chancellor, and noticed which senator seemed to perk up at the mention of the name. People usually reacted subtly whenever they heard their names spoken aloud, after all.

“Ah, I must thank you for coming all the way out to our remote planet. What a shame that I was not available to meet you then. I am relieved to see that you seem to have forgiven the impropriety.”

“No offense was taken where none was intended, Senator. As I remember there was some important legislation under discussion at the time, a bill that directly affected your home planet. Your place was here at the Senate.”

 _He got reelected because of the media spectacle of my visit_ , the thought occurred to Obi-Wan. Where was this thought coming from, since it did not seem to be from his own brain? Admittedly the fact-finding mission as such had been little more than a glorified inspection tour for a grandee or celebrity making a symbolic visit, but had the Jedi Council been aware that it was merely a staged spectacle designed to win the reelection of the incumbent, they would never have sent him.

There was that pain at the back of his skull again. Obi-Wan rubbed the spot in what he hoped looked like a casual, absent gesture, then realized that this secret gesture was part of a coded language that he shared with Qui-Gon, not Anakin. Would the boy even recognize it as a signal of a Force-warning of danger?

 _Ugh, there he goes again_ , thought Anakin. His master was perhaps overly pleased with his recently-trimmed hair and subconsciously trying to impress lovely Senator Amidala with his apparently obvious-to-women good looks. His master sometimes rubbed the back of his head when he came home obscenely drunk from a haircut, hours after any normal person would have been finished at the barbershop. What was in that teacup, really? Anakin decided to stick close to his master to see if he could smell any alcohol on him.

Senator Amidala, however, did pick up on Obi-Wan’s signal, registering it as discomfort with the milieu. It seemed to be true that Jedi had heightened senses, because Jar-Jar was clumsily careening through the room, rum bottle still in hand, about to spill its contents onto someone or into something. Poor Jar-Jar would wind up unintentionally spiking someone’s drink at this rate. It occurred to her that this was the risk that Obi-Wan was sensing. “Representative Binks, let me relieve you of that bottle. I’m sure you would love to mingle and not have to be on bartending duty for the entire party.” She received the bottle from Jar-Jar and put it down on the refreshment stand in the middle of the room, next to the kaf urn and bottle of sweet brandy that the Supreme Chancellor had put down long ago. She noticed as Obi-Wan refilled his own teacup and Anakin’s from the teapot at the end of the table. Perhaps the next time there was a party held in her honor, she should make sure that there was a larger selection of non-alcoholic drinks, especially if she wanted to invite Jedi. She had not known before that Obi-Wan Kenobi did not drink, at least not during working hours. That was the kind of discipline lacking in so many senators.

She drifted toward the slim knight and his teenage companion. Anakin was rather cute in an awkward way. He was lanky and obviously still growing; the ridiculous padawan haircut did him no favors, but his eyes were an interesting shade of blue-green, similar to his master’s, but somehow qualitatively different. All things considered, he was a good-looking boy who would grow up to be a handsome man. The way he stuck to his master like a shadow was endearing as well. This was probably his first party in the Senate. As hostess Senator Amidala realized that it was her duty to make him comfortable.

“I’m so glad you came, Ani. Have you gotten enough to eat? I’m afraid the caterers subscribe to the idea that less is more.”

Anakin smiled at her stiffly, but she could see that the crooked awkwardness of his smile was simply nerves. “The food is delicious, milady. Like you. Um, I mean—”

Senator Amidala chuckled softly. “Thank you, I think I know what you mean. Our traditional dishes are better with fresh ingredients, prepared on Naboo, I’m afraid. My mother is a wonderful cook, if I may be so immodest as to boast. I’m sure she would enjoy entertaining you if you ever came to Naboo. We also have a lakeside property for holidays. The water is clean and just the right temperature for swimming. The beach is white and sandy, too.”

“I don’t like sand,” Anakin suddenly became more animated than before. “It’s coarse, rough, and irritating,” he continued, as he looked down into his teacup while one hand turned the saucer around and around under the cup. “And it gets everywhere. Not like you. You’re everything soft, and smooth.” At this point he looked up at her face. She was looking at him with an expression in her eyes that he could not quite read. Senator Amidala could understand why someone from Tatooine would dislike sand. It was downright dangerous on a desert planet, and she remembered that sandstorm.

“The sand on Naboo is not like desert sand. I don’t think you would mind it so much; I hope the sand does not prevent you from accepting our hospitality someday. It would be so nice to share more of my homeworld with you in peacetime.” She gently laid a hand on his to steady his nervous movements. He looked up into her eyes and saw not pity, but genuine goodwill. Even if he still was that little boy to her, that was better than being actively disliked. Besides, she had mentioned swimming, which meant a great deal of bare skin on display. Women did not suggest outings like that to people they distrusted and disliked, at least, according to Alema they didn’t.

“I still remember the Boonta Eve Classic.” She smiled again before slipping off to mingle some more among her guests. It took Anakin a while to realize that she had just invited him to her private villa on Naboo as a personal friend, where she expected him to want to swim with her, and that she remembered his early achievements with respect. Perhaps he still had a chance of showing her the grown-up man he was becoming, the one who was still so smitten with her.

“Ah, Knight Kenobi, we meet again around the refreshment stand. Can I interest you in some Gungan rum? I believe this is a particularly fine bottle.” The supreme chancellor’s smile was immovable, as if his face were not part of him at all but merely pasted on. His eyes remained placidly neutral like a reptile’s, exuding a cool sort of charm that Obi-Wan had not noticed before.

“I appreciate the thought, but no thank you. Senator Amidala is a fine hostess, isn’t she? Hospitality is something that Naboo does well, I suspect.” Better to change the subject and make empty but flattering remarks. Obi-Wan also flashed one of his blankly pleasant diplomatic smiles, hoping that looking at the chancellor’s face and not the bottle would help him avoid an embarrassingly longing look toward the rum. After all, he had just turned it down. That was when Obi-Wan noticed an unusual golden gleam in Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s eyes. Obi-Wan muttered something about the cheese and crackers being lovely and excused himself.

After the party, Obi-Wan noticed that Anakin was in a particularly good mood; it was not hard to guess why. Anakin was patting his cloak pocket. More than likely he had secured the personal comm frequency or office number of Senator Amidala, along with a standing invitation to visit. The party was a success for Obi-Wan as well, since he had managed to refuse alcohol more than once. That was something he never imagined he would ever do, even just fifty days ago. He was leaving a party stone cold sober. That in itself was cause for celebration with Master Dooku, over a nice pot of tea, of course. He had not even needed to reach out. Ah, he better inform his grand-master of his success now, to put an end to his worries. “Hey, Master, we just left the party, and I turned down the supreme chancellor’s offers of alcohol not once but twice. I didn’t drink at all, just tea the whole time!”

“Good job, Obi-Wan. How about the new senator? Is she trustworthy?”

“I believe so. She likes us, so that’s a help.”

Once they returned home, Anakin carefully removed a piece of flimsi from his cloak pocket before going into his room. Obi-Wan could imagine that he was going to sit on his bed and stare at the flimsi, dreaming of the senator, remembering their conversation. Anakin was still so easy to read.

There was no way that the little canapes at the party were anywhere near enough of a meal for a growing boy, so Obi-Wan fell into the pleasant meditation of cooking a proper meal for dinner. There was something disquieting about the Supreme Chancellor’s eyes, his manner, the way he seemed intent on getting Obi-Wan to drink. There was more to it than simple hospitality or friendship. Perhaps it only seemed nefarious now because Obi-Wan had changed, while the good chancellor’s understanding of the relationship had not. Obi-Wan felt that headache returning.

After dinner Obi-Wan’s comm went off. Usually the only person who called at this hour was Mace Windu, but Obi-Wan recognized this frequency.

“Hello, Mum.”

“Obi. Hey, what’s wrong? You sound glum.” Leave it to his mother to pick up on his pensive mood and worry about it.

“I’m not glum, Mum. Just a little tired, is all.”

He could feel her frowning on the other end. Just a little tired, was what alcoholics said to mask their hangovers, too, after all. It dawned on him, too late, that his mother knew about his alcoholism but not his sobriety. He didn’t especially want to announce it over a comm like this. He was actually feeling and looking much better in many ways, although the post-acute withdrawal symptoms were leaving him tired, confused, irritated, and frankly terrified of lasting damage to his brain.

“Anakin and I were invited to a welcome party for a young senator. Anakin has had a crush on her for years. A senator from Naboo. The Supreme Chancellor himself was there to help her entertain.”

He tried to steer the conversation to happier topics, but again he realized too late that key words like “party” and “Naboo” would get his mother worrying about him being drunk after such a party, or of embarrassing himself in front of the most powerful man in the galaxy.

“What did they serve at this party?” There it was.

“There wasn’t much food, but the tea was exquisite. Anakin and I had quite a lot of the tea they had, a special Naboo blend.”

Would his mother think that the special Naboo blended tea contained alcohol? He purposely included Anakin in his statement to suggest that it was just tea, which was the truth, but then he remembered making up all kinds of excuses and half-truths to hide the extent of his drinking, and they sounded just like this. This would be a case of the boy who cried rancor. Worse, she might even conclude that he was deliberately leading his underage apprentice, whom she regarded as a grandchild, to the temptation of demon rum. How much did his mother know about the alcoholic drinks of Naboo, anyway? Ask any alcoholic and he or she could easily name a long list of brands and drinks, even cocktails containing ingredients from Naboo, but it was easy to forget that average “normies” did not spend every waking moment obsessing over alcohol like an addict does.

“Were you drinking tea when I called?” Sure enough, she did think of “tea” as a code word for something much more potent, he could tell.

“Yes, actually. We had just finished dinner. Anakin has locked himself in his room and I’m by myself, sipping tea at the kitchen table.” He couldn’t stop. Now that he had nothing to hide, he was just telling the truth, but everything he said sounded so incriminating when approached from the assumption that he was hiding drinking. Dinner was an excuse to drink, as was the time after dinner, and what would drive such a friendly, formerly affectionate boy to shut his master out, other than drunkenness? He couldn’t hope to explain to his mother that Anakin was upset precisely because Obi-Wan had quit drinking and thus disrupted their unhealthy but familiar routines. Wait a minute, wasn’t there an evening meeting somewhere tonight? Obi-Wan thought of Master Dooku’s words: “Every time you would normally think, _I need a drink_ , replace that thought with _I need a meeting_ , at least in the beginning.”

“You cook dinner yourself?” His mother was more than likely imagining Obi-Wan chopping his fingers instead of vegetables, burning himself as well as the food, doing all manner of dangerously stupid and stupidly dangerous things, like cooking in his underwear, or who knows what. Cooking while drunk was of course a terrible idea, but he had heard so many stories at his meetings of people who got sudden urges to make complicated dishes only after they had gotten drunk. Perhaps his father or grandfather had been that way as well.

“Yes. Anakin isn’t very good at it yet. I’m trying to teach him but he isn’t very receptive. He seems content to eat my cooking, though.”

Who would want to learn to cook from someone who was always drunk, anyway? If an alcoholic father made a meal, then the children might very well be too frightened of reprisals not to eat it, no matter how bad it was. Obi-Wan realized that it was impossible to prove a negative. His mother’s next question, however, surprised him.

“Who taught you to cook? I didn’t teach any of my boys, and of course Maul doesn’t cook, either.”

“My master’s best friend. She knew my master was not a good cook, so she stepped in and taught me. I cooked for both of us for years. He never complained about anything I made, even though I did make some almost inedible mistakes in the beginning, when I was first learning.” This was true. Obi-Wan realized that Qui-Gon had also enlisted other knights and masters to help, just as he had done with Anakin.

“I banished your father from the kitchen because he almost burned the house down. None of your brothers seem interested in learning, including Maul. I’m relieved that it sounds like you know what you’re doing.”

Sure enough, that was what it was. Wait a minute, did this mean she was living with Darth Maul? That in itself was a strange turn of events.

“Is Darth Maul living with you?”

“Yes, of course. I adopted him, after all. He goes with Goro to his deathstick addiction recovery group or whatever it is. Dori keeps telling him he needs to learn an honest trade, and I agree.”

“His legs work? He can walk? What about the pain?” Obi-Wan had a hard time imagining Darth Maul doing any kind of useful work, other than being a Sith lord. Why was he so concerned about the welfare of the man who had killed his master and tried to kill his darling Satine, not to mention Obi-Wan himself? On the other hand, hearing that his nemesis was also in recovery was oddly endearing, like they were both fighting on the same side now.

“Yes, he can walk. He’s still getting some physical therapy, but he’s doing better. He said he didn’t know any songs and wanted to learn some. I told him you’re the one who can sing, and he said that was why he wanted to learn. His voice is different now with his original legs back on.”

Was it possible that Darth Maul wanted to serenade a lady? Obi-Wan remembered the Zabrak woman at the Outlander Club. If she had demanded that Darth Maul sing to her, that would explain a lot. Having his lower half back would give him the necessary hormonal motivation to pursue that kind of attention.

“Does he have a girlfriend?” Did Sith lords also have regulations barring them from attachments? Obi-Wan realized that he knew very little about the logistics of daily living as a Sith.

“I think he does have a certain lady in mind. He won’t talk about it openly, mind, but a mother knows. Dori has a new girlfriend, so I think that was one factor. Dori brought the girl around, and she told Maul he was handsome, put ideas in his head.”

Obi-Wan could not stop smiling to hear this. Anything that kept Darth Maul from hurting and killing the people Obi-Wan cared about was good. It might do that poor devil some good to have a nice girl fancy him. It was also amusing and not a little alarming how Obi-Wan’s own mother cared so much about Darth Maul, as if he truly was one of her own boys.


	27. Ahsoka Becomes a Padawan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahsoka figures out how to annoy Anakin. Darth Maul finds his priorities shifting. Obi-Wan finds new uses for his long-forgotten talents. Fun fact: I have the same color-shifting blue-grey-green eyes as Obi-Wan.

Darth Sidious was concerned. It was completely out of character for Kenobi to consistently turn down alcohol. He also looked different than before, in a way that Darth Sidious could not quite identify. After all, his clothes and hairstyle were exactly the same, and the amount of redness in a fair complexion such as his was something that changed every day, depending on sun exposure, prior exercise levels, temperature in the room, intoxication level. He was much thinner, yes, and his beard was shorter, but those were superficial changes. Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed bluer than the last time he saw them. On the other hand, he had made a show of reluctance before, too, in an attempt to seem less greedy. Since he could not control his drinking once he started, perhaps he denied himself the pleasure at these official parties and let go afterwards. It would not do to guzzle the entire supply singlehandedly, which is exactly what Kenobi probably would have wanted to do in private. The man was a bit protective of young Skywalker, but then, he was right that they were not on Naboo and Jedi could not publicly flaunt the laws of Coruscant.

Skywalker was coming along nicely. He had lots of teenage angst and quite possibly an infatuation on Senator Amidala. Of course he did, everyone on Naboo loved that girl, much more than they had ever loved Senator Palpatine. This rankled, but it was true. He had yet to find a way to turn this to his advantage.

He had not heard from Darth Maul in quite some time. The spicehead had proved quite a disappointment, after all the years spent training him and torturing him to be the perfect Sith. The last he heard, the young man had been hanging out in bars, kissing other addicts. There was nothing in the Sith code that prohibited romantic flings or even parenthood, but any such relationships needed to be engineered to increase the warrior’s hatred, anger, and fear. Romantic rivalry could be a good motivator. If Darth Maul was kissing the same woman as Kenobi, then his natural male jealousy could be an asset, especially since it would be cerebrally-motivated in the absence of any hormonal basis to the emotion.

* * *

Maul had never been this nervous before. Not even when he was sent to Naboo, or any of the times he appeared before his master knowing he would be punished and tortured. He checked himself in the mirror again. Should he leave the diamond stud out of his ear, or would she appreciate it? Maybe someday he could get his teeth fixed, women seemed to appreciate that. His eyes were not like they used to be, either. They seemed to be a rich chestnut brown more and more of the time lately, and did not glow yellow like before. He was not sure whether his eyes looked better brown or yellow, but having never seen natural yellow eyes on a human, perhaps brown would be more appreciated by the ladies of this planet. Dori-Zan’s girlfriend had assured him that having horns but no hair was not a dealbreaker either. Dori-Zan seemed to have gotten a girlfriend overnight, almost as soon as he got a flattering short haircut, making him amusingly cocky as a newly-minted “expert” on attracting a Stewjoni woman.

He was not as muscular as he used to be, either, having spent so much time recovering from his major surgery, and of course being hooked on spice and deathsticks before that. The withdrawals were terrible, but Goro-Ban had been helpful. It was confusing and strange to have people—Kenobis, no less—who liked him and professed to care about him. The backslaps from the men he met in the recovery group had made him wince at first, since they reminded him of being whipped across the back, but he had come to accept the gesture as a sign of camaraderie. The way Mrs. Kenobi patted his shoulder or sometimes even his head was also alien to him, but there was something about her touch that he was starting to enjoy.

There was another female Kenobi whose touch Maul hoped to enjoy. His heart beat faster whenever he passed the hospital, let alone went inside for continuing care, with the thought that she would be there, manning the reception desk. It seemed unlikely that she would find him attractive or let him anywhere near her fatherless children, especially if he ever told her how the man who was the closest thing to a father that he had, his master, had raised him. Years of abuse and torment as part of his Sith training were all he had as a template for how a father should treat his children, and it was obvious to him that this was not Stewjoni custom.

He needed a job so that he would have disposable income. What he used to waste on deathsticks and spice, he could invest in music lessons. He had never had any exposure to music, but who knew, he may very well uncover a hidden talent. If Obi-Wan could charm women through his singing, then maybe Maul could, too.

Maybe he could learn to be an orderly in the hospital so that he could be near Her. Medicine seemed to be the Kenobi family business, anyway. He spent so much time at the hospital already between physical therapy, sessions with the mind healers, and his spice and deathstick recovery program. Goro-Ban had become his sponsor, so perhaps he could be enlisted to help as a sort of wingman. Maul’s original plan had been to get back on spice as soon as he had his legs reattached, but it was impossible that Goro-Ban’s widowed sister-in-law would consider dating him unless he stayed clean. Having his lower half back in working order had changed Maul’s thinking patterns more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

Pathetic. What a poor excuse for a Sith lord he now was, focusing as he did on wooing the widowed sister-in-law of his enemy, while he lived in the man’s family home. He was losing his Dark powers by the day. There was no way he could become a Jedi now—perish the thought—but he had begun to question his hatred of Kenobi, now that he was wooing a woman with the same last name. Perhaps some Kenobis were all right. Mrs. Kenobi, for instance. This woman who fed him, gave him a home, and treated him better than any other woman he had known, was also the mother of his enemy. Granted that she did not raise Obi-Wan Kenobi herself, it was not difficult to imagine her experiencing deep suffering and grief if he ever finally did manage to kill Obi-Wan. Was getting revenge worth causing her anguish, especially now that he had his legs back? Maul became less and less sure of the answer to that question each day.

* * *

“Anakin, you’ve got to raise your arms a bit more, but drop your shoulders. Here, let’s see if I can do it.” Obi-Wan still had flimsi and a stylus on hand at the dojo in case he had to resort to sketches, but was increasingly able to manage demonstrations of katas, although he did not feel ready for actual sparring. Anakin muttered in Huttese under his breath. Obi-Wan was not as fluent as Anakin, of course, but he knew enough of the language to know that the remark was not a compliment. The boy had gotten used to doing things however he liked with nobody to impose discipline, and now he suddenly had his master drilling katas again as if he were a youngling. Obi-Wan understood the sentiment, but Anakin was old enough to be held to a higher standard. Besides, he himself was the one who worried about being behind.

Obi-Wan had worked hard on getting his Soresu figures back the way he used to be able to do them, and now they had a small audience of very young junior padawans watching as Obi-Wan demonstrated for Anakin. It was harder than Obi-Wan thought to get back into shape.

Behind the junior padawans was, of course, their instructor, Master Drallig. He smiled to see Obi-Wan back in the dojo doing what he did best. The still-young knight was a good teacher. Anakin was lucky, even if he did not see it. Master Drallig approached them as unobtrusively as he could, waiting for a break in their session. “A moment? Obi-Wan. Alema showed me the illustrated manual you made for her. I had no idea. Would it be possible for you to illustrate textbooks for my courses? We could get Master Windu to pose for the chapter on Vaapad.”

Obi-Wan chuckled and stroked his short beard at the thought of Mace Windu posing for anything. “I like that. With you as the author and editor, I would feel comfortable doing that.”

“Good, it’s settled then.” Anakin rolled his eyes as soon as Master Drallig went on his way. Nobody else seemed to see the sordid reality of Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was infuriating how popular he was.

Later in the evening, after Anakin had locked himself into his room for the night without even washing up after dinner, Obi-Wan dried and put away the dishes and went out to his regular evening meeting. He did not feel ready to speak in front of everyone yet, but he had picked up a commitment: making the tea.

“Hey, Obi-Wan.” A woman placed her hand on his shoulder as he measured out the tea leaves for the large samovar. “I’m chair wrangler tonight.”

He did not have to turn around to know that voice. Argorria did not usually come to this particular meeting, but she was here tonight.

“Hello, Argorria. I hear that you’re taking a padawan.”

“Why yes, I am. How did you know?”

“Ahsoka herself told me. She’s quite excited to be your padawan.”

“You know Ahsoka? I didn’t know you had friends among the Initiates.”

“I’ve known her for years. I used to be pretty popular in the creche for reasons unknown.”

“I thought we Togruta women should stick together, so it made sense to me that she would be my first padawan.”

“Your first? I’m on my first, too.”

“I had no idea you had a padawan! You didn’t seem the type.”

Obi-Wan had to smile at that one. Not only did he have a padawan, he had two biological children as well, one of whom was in the creche herself. “My padawan is sixteen now. We’ve been together for seven years. He’s having a hard time adjusting to my sobriety.”

He could feel Argorria frown behind him before he turned to face her. She had a crease between the white markings on her forehead, between her eyes. “Oh. Yeah, I suppose so. You had a padawan during your active addiction. Poor kid.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, anyway, why don’t you and your padawan come to Ahsoka’s braiding ceremony or the after-party? We’re holding it the day after tomorrow.”

The next morning, Anakin almost jumped out of his skin when he found his master up and making breakfast when he got up for class, even though this was not the first time. Anakin had gotten so used to his master lying in bed until noon. He could feel his master’s amusement through the bond.

“Good morning, Anakin. I know this is sudden, but do you remember that little Togruta girl, Ahsoka, we used to visit in the creche? We’ve been invited to her braiding ceremony and after-party. I know her new master through my recovery meetings.”

Anakin had stiffened at the mention of a party until he remembered Alema’s five years ago. If that was the kind of party involved, he would not be opposed to that, although he could not imagine having anything in common with a child. Ahsoka was several years younger, after all. On the other hand, there was no harm in it, so he agreed to it.

At lunchtime Anakin was dismayed to find his master waiting for him by the entrance to the refectory, when he had hoped to try comming Senator Amidala during her lunch break. She had kindly given him her contact information; the trouble was finding a chance to contact her. Anakin had nothing in particular to say, but he just wanted to say something to her.

Obi-Wan saw Anakin’s mental image of the young senator through their training bond, since Anakin was sloppy with his shielding. Aha, perhaps she had given him a means to contact her, which would be useful, because Obi-Wan himself wanted to talk to her about the Supreme Chancellor. Of course he would wait until she was more settled into her new role, but he was looking forward to it. That astute young woman must surely be just below the cutoff point for having enough midichlorians to be a Jedi herself.

“We need to get Ahsoka some kind of gift. What do kids your generation like, anyway? What’s popular in the junior padawan classes?”

Anakin resented being lumped into the same age group as a twelve-year-old girl who was not quite a padawan yet. How should he know what that girl liked? “Amazingly, what’s popular in the junior padawan classes are your drawings, Master, that Alema has been showing everybody. The Kenobi craze spread like a virus from the senior padawan classes.”

Obi-Wan gave a hearty laugh. “I’d forgotten all about drawing pictures for years. It used to be one of my hobbies, when I was a padawan. Getting sent away to Bandomeer was not fun, but I did draw pictures of the plant life to help cope. I suppose an illustrated manual would be appropriate.”

Obi-Wan spent much of the afternoon working on sketches for Ahsoka’s gift, until it was time to go to another of his meetings. Argorria was there, so he surreptitiously sketched her from a variety of angles for reference. This was fun. Life was almost fun, the way food tasted better, the leaves of his houseplants were brighter, and everything seemed more vibrant. He had been warned about a pink cloud period after detoxing; perhaps this was it.

When Anakin finally saw Ahsoka again for the first time in a long time, he warmed up to her quickly. The little squirt obviously adored his master, which was annoying, but her laugh was infectious. The girl told the most incredible stories about all the reckless, no, stupid, antics she had done as a crecheling. Anakin remembered seeing her Force-jump off of the furniture in the creche when she was just a wee thing. For her part, Ahsoka dubbed Anakin “Skyguy” almost immediately. She grabbed Anakin’s braid, gave it a good pull, and snickered. “I got the better deal. I got colorful beads!” Her new master laughed. Anakin muttered in Huttese, but of course the girl was right. He was sure that the padawan haircut was hurting his chances with the beautiful senator. The sooner he was knighted the sooner he could experiment and find a more flattering style. It occurred to him that his master might hold him back deliberately, since Senator Amidala seemed to fancy his master. Anakin began to feel the fires of jealousy, until he noted that his master’s hair was better-barbered but not actually longer than his own. It was ridiculous that the senator would still find his old master attractive, anyway, now that she had seen him as an old man of thirty-one, after several years of alcoholism.

Oh yes, speaking of which. Anakin kept an eye on his master for the whole party, but could find no evidence that the two legal adults were drinking anything other than tea. Not even his master’s brandy-tea, but just plain tea. This was the longest stretch of not drinking he had seen in his master, if indeed he was truly not drinking.

After they were home again, Obi-Wan gave Anakin’s braid a tug as well. “I’m not sure how to represent with a bead all the years you endured my failures as your master. The whole length of your braid would be one huge bead. I know it’s time to re-braid it and you deserve to add a bead.”

Anakin brought his braid over his shoulder and fingered it. It was just past his shoulder now, but there were not many beads in it because his master had not been paying attention, and because they had not been on many exciting missions. Anakin remembered seeing his master’s severed padawan braid and all the beads along its length. His master had been through a lot as a padawan, but those were opportunities that he had denied Anakin through simple negligence.

Anakin used to enjoy the bonding ritual of re-braiding, especially the traditional notion that the three strands of the braid represented him, his master, and the Force, but now he did not want to get too close to the man, even though he no longer reeked of booze. The silly little nerftail at the back of his head was something that Anakin could manage himself without much difficulty, but the braid was different. There was nothing for it but to sit near his master and let the older man take down the braid. As soon as Obi-Wan had freed the lock of hair from its few beads, it sprang up into a rather cherubic ringlet. The management of curls was not something Obi-Wan was familiar with, but this was just one lock. Last time Obi-Wan tried to re-braid it, his hands were a bit shaky, so the result was wonky. Now was his chance to do it right.

“I think these past several years of putting up with me counts as a trial of the spirit.” Obi-Wan chose the appropriate-colored bead from the box. “I know it’s far from over, and it’s perfectly reasonable for you not to trust me ever again, but I’m trying. I need to make amends to everyone I hurt. You most of all.”

“How do I know if I can trust you? The rules have changed suddenly and I don’t know how to interact with you anymore. It felt familiar to have you only half-aware, like it did living with my mother. She didn’t have complete authority over me because that right belonged to our owner. I was on my own in many ways, desperately trying to learn on my feet, because there’s no such thing as slave training. Now I’m accountable to someone who was himself not accountable for his actions until recently, and it feels invasive.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I’m sorry about your mother, too. There was no need for me to shove you in her face in such a way that she would be forced to reject you. I know she loves you, which is why she turned us away. Tough love is harder.”

Anakin gave a short, bitter laugh. This must be a Kenobi family adage, because the last person who had said this to Anakin was Dr. Minnear. Maybe it was also a Kenobi family trait to bend things around for their own benefit and be sanctimonious about it at the same time.

Obi-Wan stopped braiding to put in the first bead. “No, I’m serious. I’m tougher on you now than you like, I know, but I don’t know how else to help you catch up. It’s my fault you’re behind, and I’m behind too. You’re getting better in the dojo and I saw your latest report card on your classwork. You’re actually doing pretty well in all areas except the mental techniques for meditation and shielding. That’s entirely my responsibility. But I can’t make it up to you and help you catch up if you won’t talk to me.”

When he came to the end of the braid and added the new bead, Obi-Wan gently tugged on it the way Qui-Gon used to tug on his own padawan braid. This had been the signal for Obi-Wan to turn around and face his master. Oh, kriff. He had not taught any of that to Anakin.

“Ow. There you go again, inflicting pain.” Anakin’s voice betrayed a sense of hurt that gave Obi-Wan pause. Did his padawan actually believe that Obi-Wan was trying to hurt him as some sort of twisted didactic technique, or worse, for his own pleasure? That was Sith or Hutt behavior. There had been nothing pleasurable about hurting Anakin or even Garen and Bant during his career as an actively-drinking alcoholic.

“I’m sorry. My master used to do that with me as an affectionate signal for me to turn around and face him. We had a whole language of secret gestures that nobody else understood. That’s really useful for missions, because sometimes you can’t use the training bond to talk silently, like if one or both of the pair has been captured and put into a Force-inhibiting collar.”

When Anakin finally did turn around to face Obi-Wan, the master noted with dismay the change in the teenager’s eye color. How had he missed that? Since when did Anakin have green eyes? The natural color of the boy’s eyes was a light sky blue that fit his name so well, not the ever-changing blue-grey-green color of Obi-Wan’s own eyes. The boy had no business having green eyes.

Anakin was also looking at his master’s eyes and noticed the color change. What color were his eyes, anyway? “I had no idea you had a secret language of gestures. I wish I could go on exciting missions, and stuff. I miss Alema and Master Ventress.”

“I know, it’s my fault we haven’t been on many missions. I’m probably still not strong enough physically for anything exciting, but we could probably observe elections or pick up Force-sensitive infants. Do you want to learn the gestures that I used with Qui-Gon, or do you want to invent our own?”

“You never talk about the missions you had as a padawan. My classmates know more about your past than I do. It’s not fair.”

Oh dear. There were so many episodes from Obi-Wan’s early life that he wanted to censor, but it was not appropriate to go on telling the boy nothing, either. He reached into his memory for a mission that fit some of the lessons he wanted Anakin to learn, then began a story.

* * *

“To your left, Master!” Alema sent a warning through her training bond to Asajj Ventress as the bounty hunter aimed his blaster at the mayor they had been sent to protect. With a savage cry, Asajj Ventress leaped straight at the man’s head, knocking the blaster out of his hand with her foot. Her advantage was short-lived, however, as he turned on the jet pack on the back of his shiny armor.

“I had a feeling you were going to do that.” Asajj Ventress came down from her jump, then Force-leaped up to meet him. She could not stay airborne for any length of time the way he could with a jet pack, but she could still grab onto his feet.

Alema ushered the mayor to safety while her master focused on the bounty hunter. Her master had joked just recently about having a foot fetish. This, of course, was what she meant. The bounty hunter would likely get away, since the mission was to capture him alive to arrest rather than kill him. It was much easier to simply kill someone than to capture, then negotiate with someone who had turned to violence as a way to air his or her grievances. Even if he got away, perhaps her master could knock his helmet off and see his face. That would help her to identify him for intelligence-gathering purposes later.

Asajj Ventress held on to the bounty-hunter’s feet for dear life as he flew with his jet pack. She did not want to think about what would happen to her when he landed. If she let go she would simply fall, since they were too high up for her to use the ground below for a somersault leap. There was nothing for it but to climb up his legs. She moved one hand to his left leg to join her other hand and began to pull herself up his leg, which he began shaking. This was enough to throw him off balance, so that he crash-landed into a tree, knocking off his helmet.

He was surprisingly handsome for a bounty-hunter, with his olive skin and manly square jaw, determined brown eyes, and short dark curls. He looked a lot like Garen to her, which would help her remember his face. The man was cursing in a language that she did not understand but recognized as Mando’a. If only Obi-Wan were here. He would be able to serve up one of his sassy one-liners in this man’s language and shock him right out of the tree.

“Alema? I crash-landed the man into a tree. He’s a Master Muln lookalike. Similar coloring, human, same haircut. The man seems to be Mandalorian. Can you pass on this intelligence to Master Kenobi?” Asajj Ventress had caught her breath enough to send a message to her padawan through their bond.

Obi-Wan was in the locker room of the swimming pool when he noticed that he had a holorecorded message on his comm. Master Fisto had beat him, of course, in their friendly race, but Obi-Wan was narrowing the gap between his current abilities and his old record. He used to be a good swimmer, at least, for a human, after all. He got at least half-dressed before taking the message. Ah, it’s Alema. The Mandalorian bounty-hunter who looked like Garen must be Jango Fett. He sent a quick “Got your message” response to Alema before finishing dressing.

The planet that Asajj Ventress had been sent to was one of the agriworlds. It was not hard to imagine why a mayor of a regional city who opposed exporting almost the entire crop yield of his municipality would be targeted by Jango Fett. The man had a personal interest in making sure his clone army was well-fed. If the Trade Federation were behind the attack, this was very bad business indeed.

Back in his apartment Obi-Wan sketched Jango Fett from memory, scanned the drawing into his device, and sent it to Alema with the simple question, “Is this him?” By this time master and padawan were probably together anyway to compare the picture to what Asajj had seen of the man.

“Yes, that’s him. Who is he?”

“His name is Jango Fett. He is the original for the clone army grown on Kamino, and I met him when he tried to assassinate the Duchess of Mandalore. He was an associate of Darth Maul and also tried to order a droid army from the Geonosians.”

“Wow, you know all about him. You should have been there.” Asajj Ventress sent a short message from her padawan’s comm device.

At this moment Anakin walked into the apartment and found his master at the kitchen table, slumped over something. His first thought was that his master was drunk again, but his Force presence was not cloudy the way it was when he was drunk. “Master? I’m home. I thought we were going to the dojo.”

Obi-Wan turned around and smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I got some communications from the field from the Ventress-Han pair.”

Anakin’s face lit up at the mention of their names. “Are we going to join them on their mission?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you. I don’t know yet. They sent me information on the bounty-hunter targeting the mayor they were sent to protect. It’s someone I know. We can still help them from here. Ground support.”

Anakin groaned. This was not exciting. On the other hand, as long as he was on Coruscant, he had a chance to see Senator Amidala.


	28. Satine Comes on Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan thought things were starting to go better with Anakin and enjoyed a bit of Windu-sketching, until Korkie slips up.

Kriff. Why did it always have to be this way? Anakin shook his head as he followed his master into the Senate building and toward the office of his beautiful angel. She had easily agreed to meet with his master, ostensibly on business, but he knew that she would have responded with considerably less alacrity if the request had come from Anakin himself. It was not fair that his master had used the flimsi she had given Anakin to find out her contact information. She never even asked how he knew her comm frequency or where her office was. This man, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was almost dangerous in the way that he could get women to do whatever he wanted.

Obi-Wan knocked on the door of the office and was admitted by a dark-skinned man in a military uniform. “Kenobi and Skywalker, Jedi, here to see Senator Amidala. She’s expecting us.” Obi-Wan was so smooth at this.

“Captain Panaka. Please come in.” The man ushered them inside the office suite. There she was, sitting at a huge desk. Even though she was so young, the huge desk piled high with all sorts of dull official business did not dwarf her at all. She exuded an air of competence to rival that of Master Windu.

“What is it, Master Kenobi? Ani—I mean Padawan Skywalker.” She smiled warmly at both of them. Anakin was not sure whether she had used his nickname first because she still saw him as a child, or because she had any affection for him beyond that. She had invited him to go swimming with her, after all.

Obi-Wan began presenting his facts and evidence regarding corruption in the Trade Federation and Tariff Committee, laying out everything. Anakin stared at his master openly. Didn’t he realize that he sounded like a crazy drunken conspiracy theorist? Why must he insist on embarrassing Anakin in front of Senator Amidala? How much of this so-called intelligence had his master gathered drunk? Anakin remembered Merisee, but was only now hearing details of that, which rankled.

“I’m so honored that you trust me enough to tell me all this.” Senator Amidala had that perfect political mask that made it hard to know how much she believed. “Thank you for filling in so many of the missing pieces of the puzzles. I knew Senator Milew was corrupt, but I had no idea just how bad it truly was. It’s most troubling that the same bounty-hunter is involved in the creation of both of these armies. There must be a single mastermind behind both.”

“Yes, that’s what I believe, too.” Obi-Wan was not about to tell her that he did not know who that was, or which politicians he suspected of being in league with the Sith master, whoever he was. He was also not quite ready to tell her that he thought Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was perhaps not as trustworthy as he seemed, or that he might have deliberately gotten Obi-Wan hooked on alcohol. If she knew he was an alcoholic, she might not believe any of his information. He did not personally care what she thought of him as an individual, but she was still so young and a non-Jedi who had perhaps not been trained to separate the message from the messenger.

“And what is to become of the clones? They’re sentient beings who deserve to have the same rights as everyone else. Even if we don’t need them as an army because we prevent a war, they still have basic needs and rights.”

This was entirely true, of course, and Obi-Wan had considered this on many a sleepless night during the worst of his post-acute withdrawal period. Perhaps now the Council would believe him. Quinlan Vos had presented the hard evidence to Master Yoda and Master Windu, after all.

“I agree that we need to find some way to re-integrate them into galactic society. The original is a Mandalorian bounty-hunter, so perhaps they can be given Mandalorian citizenship. Or maybe they can be resettled to whichever planets need workers. Of course, each individual clone should be given opportunities to make his own choices. I have not seen the clones, but I do know the original. I hope they have not inherited his nature. He was not a nice man.”

“Perhaps the Supreme Chancellor has a plan. He was senator from Naboo since before my grandfather was born, so he has a long career with a lot of experience. I hesitate to trouble him about this, though.”

Obi-Wan could sense that she did not trust the Supreme Chancellor either. He could kick himself for falling for the man’s grandfatherly exterior all those years ago. Of course, Obi-Wan had been distraught and grieving when he accepted the offer of a friendship of sorts, built primarily on using the Supreme Chancellor as a liquor pipeline.

“I agree that this may not be worthy of his time and attention. I’m sure he’s very busy.” Obi-Wan added a suggestion to the words to convey subconsciously to the senator that he shared her distrust.

Anakin watched the whole proceeding, eyes wide. Senator Amidala was certainly much shrewder and more sophisticated than he was. Perhaps she was right in assessing him to be a child. No, that was Obi-Wan’s fault for not teaching him more and better. The man was trying to do better lately, but Anakin wanted to impress the senator now, not however many years later when he finally became a knight.

After their meeting, Obi-Wan’s step was lighter as they returned to the Jedi Temple. Senator Amidala had believed him and shared his concerns. It was good to have an ally in the Senate. Anakin had to content himself with the friendly smiles and light touches he had received. Senator Amidala had placed her hand on his shoulder as they got up to leave, and instead of quickly lifting her hand up again, had let her hand travel down his shoulder blade as if she were stroking an animal. It was the sort of affectionate gesture his mother used to use with him. Her eyes, however, carried an unmistakable message: come back and see me again. Even though his master looked healthier and therefore better-looking with each passing day, she had not acted like a lovesick junior padawan trying to talk to a friend’s young and attractive master.

Senator Amidala sat in her office, her head reeling from all of the evidence of corruption Master Kenobi had presented her. It was much worse than she thought. She knew the Trade Federation were merciless and corrupt, but the problem was bigger than that. Master Kenobi was also older-looking than she remembered him. He did not have wrinkles around his eyes when she first met him. The man was still strikingly handsome, in fact more so now than at her welcome party, but he was unmistakably a grownup now, despite his baby face, and not in the same stage of life as herself. He had been a youth before, but now years of responsibility had changed him. Anakin, however, had grown up more than she realized. He was awkward and a little creepy in the way that he stared at her, but he did have his charms.

A few days later, Obi-Wan was getting ready to go to the dojo for his morning practice when his comm beeped. It was a short message from his mother: Dori-Zan was getting married. Obi-Wan did not think he could slip back to Stewjon for the wedding, but the thought of his little brother’s happiness made him smile. He wondered if Goro-Ban was seeing someone now, too, since he had been clean for almost a year and a half. Even Darth Maul was trying to find a girlfriend. Darth Maul would be at the wedding, no doubt. What a strange tableau that would be. A former Sith lord, part of the wedding party of the brother of a Jedi.

Master Drallig brought Master Windu to the dojo right when Obi-Wan was ready for a break. “I hear you are going to be sketching me. I reserve the right to approve any depictions of myself.”

“Yes, of course.” Obi-Wan had to smile. Master Windu was not vain about his personal appearance, but he did have a certain pride as the inventor of Vaapad, which he would want depicted correctly. That, and he just liked people to think he was awesome, which of course he was. “If we produce the book in color, of course great care will be taken to get the right shade of purple.”

Master Windu smiled at this. He frowned a lot to be more intimidating, but Obi-Wan had seen his smile more than many knights had. Wait a minute, wasn’t he going to ask to see a sample of Obi-Wan’s artwork?

“I still have some of your drawings on my cooling unit. From when you were a junior padawan. Qui-Gon liked to share them because he was so proud.” Obi-Wan realized that he had not shielded his thoughts. He knew it was pointless to do so in front of Master Windu, anyway. There was nothing to hide anymore.

“I hope my skill has improved since then. That was almost twenty years ago.”

“We shall see. Let’s get started.”

Master Drallig wrote down his notes on the Korun master’s moves as Obi-Wan sketched. They made a good team. Obi-Wan did not have much trouble keeping up with Master Windu’s moves, even though they were so fast, because he had seen them plenty of times before and, he realized, his sketching was Force-enhanced.

After the session, Master Windu gripped Obi-Wan’s upper arm, which was still much too thin. “I want to talk to you. I can feel you’re troubled about something.”

They returned to Obi-Wan’s apartment simply because it was closer. “Oh, and thank you indirectly for the bottle of fine Corellian whiskey. Garen Muln passed it on to me.” Master Windu could be so cruel sometimes. Obi-Wan winced before accepting the thanks. It was not that he wanted the bottle back—he didn’t—but the casual mention of his drunken recent past in the context of Master Windu looting his collection for spoils did not sit well with the spiritual growth Obi-Wan had been pursing in sobriety.

“There isn’t any more of that here. Sorry.”

“No, of course not. I would notice if you were drinking again. Trust me, it was not very well hidden that you were a mess. I wanted to talk about the clones from Kamino. You were right about that. I’m sorry to have dismissed you as a crazy drunk.”

Obi-Wan gave a sad little smile as he stroked his beard. “There’s a lot more where that came from. Because I was afraid I would not be taken seriously, I sent my friends on clandestine investigations without Council approval. The Sith apprentice from Naboo, too. Did I ever tell you what became of him?”

“Unauthorized missions? That’s classic Qui-Gon. He did that kind of thing all the time, even as a senior padawan. I remember it well, because I was the one covering for him and picking up the pieces from his crazy misadventures.”

“You’re not upset, then, that I had Quinlan Vos doing the legwork for these unofficial investigations?”

“No, not really. Not delighted, but not angry. Qui-Gon often uncovered valuable information that way, too. We in the Council have learned to live with it. There’s always at least one maverick Jedi in every generation. You have information you want to share with me. But first, you want to talk about that red-faced Sith.”

“Yes. He’s not dead, he’s back in one piece again after I cut him in half, he started a deathstick and spice trafficking ring, he quit taking spice himself, and now he’s living with my birth family on Stewjon. I have holographic evidence for all of this. Am I even still a knight, since the battle that you accepted as constituting my trials did not go the way we all thought it did? If you want to take Anakin away from me, you have plenty of justification, not even counting my drinking problem.”

“I want to see those holos. And no, you’re still a knight, and nobody is taking Anakin away from you, not unless you relapse and do something really stupid.”

Obi-Wan fished out from the folds of his tunic some of the recent holos that his mother had sent. In one image Darth Maul was smiling, each of his arms wrapped around a Kenobi man. In another candid shot he was reading sheet music, tracing the notes with his finger, apparently at a music lesson. It was strange to see one’s nemesis so happy and nonthreatening like this.

“The other humans in these images look just like you. Your brothers, I presume?”

“Yes, that’s right. Darth Maul seems to be a Kenobi now. I know I’m not supposed to be in communication with my birth family, but my mother sends me messages. One of these boys has a wedding soon, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Darth Maul was the best man. I’m not sure what to think, except that I’m glad my mother has adopted him, because he’s not stirring up any more trouble. The Mandalorian bounty-hunter Jango Fett, on the other hand, is still a threat.”

Obi-Wan handed Master Windu some of the same information he had shared with Senator Amidala. “Maybe we should send your mother after him with a cup of tea and some crumpets.”

It was not funny, but both men chuckled wistfully. “And this is a big part of what is troubling me. The rest is mostly Anakin struggling to adjust. I shared some of my findings with Senator Amidala, since she’s young, new, still uncorrupted. She would make a useful ally in the Senate.”

“Why, you’re wicked. Practically a Sith yourself.” Master Windu lightly whacked Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “You want a mission, preferably exciting, I bet. You don’t have medical clearance for that, but I can turn a blind eye while you mastermind your clandestine operations.”

“At least let Anakin go on a mission with somebody. It doesn’t have to be me. I think he resents being stuck here because of me.”

“That’s highly irregular to let a junior padawan go on missions without his or her master, even if there are other Jedi present.”

“I know. Maybe he can join Master Fisto or something. Anything to jolt him into realizing that he still needs training and that I need his cooperation to do that.”

“I’ll think about it. I won’t promise anything. Thanks for the intel.”

* * *

When Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore and her teenaged second-in-command arrived on Coruscant, a welcoming committee of a few senators came to the spaceport. She recognized the nice young man that was Senator Organa of Alderaan, but the other senator seemed familiar yet new. Satine could not place her.

“Welcome, Duchess. My colleague Senator Amidala of Naboo has joined me today.” Senator Organa smiled at Satine and she almost melted into a puddle of goo right on the floor. This man oozed genuine charm in a volume to rival her own Ben. Of course, the former Queen of Naboo was now a senator. Satine nodded politely at both as she followed them into the Senate building.

Senator Amidala noticed the young boy who looked a few years younger than Ani. His demeanor, however, seemed older and more mature, even though it was clear from his face and stature that he was still quite young. There was something very familiar about him. His slim, aqualine nose he clearly shared with the Duchess, but his coloring was different. It was warmer, ruddier. Even his blue eyes were warmer in their blue. His long red fringe was swooped back into a tall quiff off his face in an attempt to make himself look taller, although it had the opposite effect.

“Oh, how silly of me. My nephew, Korkie Kryze.” Satine introduced the boy to the two senators. “I was hoping he would be able to observe some Senate sessions as part of his education, since I’m here on business anyway.”

“Why yes, of course. As long as he is over the age of thirteen, he is welcome.”

“Good. He’s sixteen.” Satine smiled with pride. Her son was now the same age that his father had been when she conceived him. He was living in a much more stable Mandalore and having a much less chaotic childhood and youth than he had, with two living parents and peace on his homeworld. Of course, he had also inherited his father’s good looks, which would be useful in his future career. Although it was taboo to mention it aloud, looks were important in politics, even for men.

When Senator Amidala returned to her office, she found it already occupied. “Ani? What are you doing here? Captain Panaka let you in, I see. Did your master forget something here?”

“Aw, aren’t you happy to see me? It’s pure torment whenever I see you.” Oops, that was not quite what he meant to say. She seemed to catch his meaning, however, for she smiled and touched his arm.

They talked for a long time afterward, trying to catch up on the last seven years. “I know you like my master, and believe me, I do, too, but you don’t know the downsides of living with him.”

“Downsides? What downsides? Nobody is perfect, Anakin.”

“I know, but my master’s public image does not match what I see in private. He’s jealous of me, why else is he still holding me back? He’s critical, no, hypocritical. Nobody sees past his confounded smoothness.”

“He’s your mentor. Who else is going to tell you what you need to hear, rather than what you want to hear? Sure, it’s painful, but it’s how we grow.”

“You really believe that? Why only now, after seven years, has he finally gotten his nose out of a bottle long enough to teach me things I should have learned years ago? I’m grown up, I’m ready to be a knight. He’s holding me back.”

“Bottle? What are you implying? I saw him at my party. He drank tea the whole time.” Senator Amidala frowned. She could not imagine her idealized memory of Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, beautiful figment of her imagination, sprawled out drunk on the floor. No, she must have misunderstood.

“Oh sure, he’s teetotal and virtuous now. But you didn’t see him half a year ago. He’s a drunkard.” Finally, maybe someone who would understand the gravity of his situation, the injustice of having this problem go ignored by the authorities for years. Sure, he was not drinking lately—allegedly—but he could go back to that nightmare any time. Besides, Anakin deserved better.

“But he quit, right?” Senator Amidala stared at Anakin with a look in her eyes that said, _what is your problem?_ Oh no. Even his beautiful angel was in favor of just exonerating his master of everything regrettable or hurtful he had ever done because he was all better now? Where was the justice in that?

“Seems to have. We still can’t go on any missions, though. He can’t get medical clearance for that. It’s his own kriffing fault, his medical problems are entirely self-inflicted. He comes from a family of healers, he should just Force-heal himself or something and be done with it.”

“Is that what you want him to do? Is he doing anything to make it up to you?”

“Well, yes, he’s annoying and intrusive in my training. That doesn’t count.”

“Isn’t it his job to train you?” Senator Amidala looked very confused.

“Well, yes, it is, but he didn’t do that job for a long time, and now he expects to come in and have me accept him and his training as if nothing ever happened. Besides, I’m already as good as he is.”

“Really? Maybe when he was drunk that was true, but how old is he? How old are you?” Senator Amidala was not terribly well-versed in Jedi customs and policies, but it did not take a genius to guess that a grown man who had earned his rank during a terrible battle might know more than his teenaged apprentice.

“He’s thirty-two, I’m almost seventeen. It’s not a big difference. It’s not important.” Anakin put a little too much heat into his words.

“That’s quite a big difference, I should say. Shouldn’t you listen to him, at least some of the time?”

“ANAKIN! WHERE ARE YOU?!” At that moment Anakin fell forward, clutching his head in both hands as he felt his master shouting over the training bond. When he looked up again, mortified, Senator Amidala was smirking.

“You heard that, didn’t you? He thinks I’m a youngling again.”

“Yes, I did hear that, actually. He cares enough to want to know your whereabouts. Did you tell him you were coming here?”

“No, of course not. I’m not a youngling.” Anakin played with the frayed hem of one of his tunics. He could not believe that Senator Amidala was taking that big-sisterly tone with him as if he were a lost baby porg.

“I never go anywhere without Captain Panaka knowing where I’m going. Important people have bodyguards who track their movements. Maybe he’s also your bodyguard, not just effectively your dad. After all, isn’t he responsible for you?”

“I should be allowed to be responsible for myself.” Even Anakin could hear the petulance in his voice. Kriff. Way to make a suave impression on the senator.

Senator Amidala began to laugh as she reached for her comm device. “Master Kenobi? This is Padme Amidala, Senator for Naboo. Ani is here with me. He’s safe, Captain Panaka is guarding both of us.”

Anakin turned beet red before excusing himself and heading back to the Jedi Temple. Along the way, he bumped into Korkie, who had managed to get lost in the Senate building. “Hey, watch where you’re—Korkie?”

“Anakin Skywalker! It’s been a long time. You still got those wizard droids?”

Anakin began to laugh. “I sure do. Any of yours broken?”

“Nope. I learned to fix my own droids. Hey, how’s your training going with my dad?”

“Not great. Wait, what?” Anakin stared at the ginger boy standing in front of him, the one who looked familiar not just because he had met him before, but because—

Korkie’s blue eyes had gone wide in horror and one hand covered his mouth as he muttered something in Mando’a.

“I mean, your master. Galactic Basic isn’t my first language, you know.” Korkie’s heart continued to pound in his chest. The last thing he wanted was to cause problems for his father here, and as an aspiring diplomat, this was a truly stupid error. “Um, it was nice to run into you. I gotta go, Aunt Satine is looking for me, I’m sure.” It was all Korkie could do not to blurt out “my mother.”

By the time Anakin had returned to the apartment, he was seething. His eyes, which had been green, flashed yellow for the first time. He found his master sitting at the kitchen table over a cup of tea. Without thinking, he grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and tried to drag him up. Obi-Wan’s reflexes took over and a fist landed right at Anakin’s stomach, knocking the air out of him.

Obi-Wan turned around to face the boy. He saw the yellow in his apprentice’s eyes, but Anakin did not see the tears in his master’s. “You deceived me. You’re still lying to me! You said you were going to be honest in all of your dealings!”

“Anakin, what is this about?” Obi-Wan was genuinely puzzled. There were so many pieces of damaging information that he had withheld that it could be anything that had gotten Anakin angry. He had worked out a schedule of sorts for revealing his secrets to the boy as he deemed him ready.

“I ran into Korkie Kryze in the hall. He said his Galactic Basic wasn’t so good, but I’m sure the vocabulary mistake he said he made wasn’t a mistake at all. He referred to you as his dad. It’s obvious now. How could you keep this from me for so long? We stayed in their home, shared meals with them, and he was your son the whole time?”

“Oh, that. Blast it.” Obi-Wan looked down.

“What do you mean by that? Is this not a big deal to you, that you deceived me in something so important?”

“I didn’t know he was my son until recently myself. Maybe two years ago I found out. His mother—the Duchess—and I decided to keep it under wraps for everyone’s safety. Korkie found out shortly before I did. I should have been there for him, but then, I should have been there for you, too.”

Anakin’s eyes grew wide as they calmed down to a mottled green. “The Duchess and you—"

“Yes. Of course it’s a secret. I’m not supposed to be married.”

Anakin’s expression softened a little. Given Korkie’s age, his master must have been very young when he married the Duchess. Probably around the same age as Anakin was now. This was not fair, either. His master had gotten far enough with the Duchess at this age to have a secret child, while Anakin was dismissed as a child by the woman of his dreams. His eyes flashed yellow again for an instant.

Obi-Wan sighed. He had so many mistakes to atone for. Korkie himself was not a mistake, but the way in which his true identity had been revealed to Anakin was. Anakin’s anger was understandable, but the intensity of it worried him. The fury did not fit the magnitude of the transgression. Besides, Anakin had not suffered any actual harm from Obi-Wan having a secret family. It was Korkie who had a right to be angry. The boy was on Coruscant, which meant that his mother was, as well.


	29. Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire Kenobi-Kryze-Skywalker-Dooku family get together for some family drama. Grandpa Dooku makes a good patriarch because of course he does.

“Help, Master. I really want a drink right now.” Obi-Wan sent a message to Yan Dooku over their training bond.

“What happened? I’ll be right over.” It was a good thing Master Dooku was currently on Coruscant. If he were on a mission, they would have had to conduct this conversation entirely over the training bond.

In a few minutes Master Dooku was in front of Obi-Wan’s front door, which he simply palmed open. He had long since learned the code for entering the apartment that had been Qui-Gon’s. Obi-Wan was slumped over his teacup at the kitchen table; he had evidently been guzzling his tea as if it were utoz.

Master Dooku placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled up a seat next to him. When Obi-Wan lifted his face to look at his grand-master, his eyes were red and there were tear tracks running down his cheeks into his short beard. “I’ve been trying so hard to rebuild trust with Anakin, but now it’s destroyed again, because he found out about my son. I don’t think he knows about my daughter. Every time he finds something out and the revelation is not in the context I hoped it would be in, he’s going to distrust and hate me even more. He tried to choke me from behind and his eyes gleamed yellow. There is something wrong with him.”

Master Dooku had heard of the Sith Force-choke, but could not imagine Anakin knowing how to do that. The yellow eyes were alarming enough. Now that Obi-Wan’s eyes had gone back to their normal color, the color change of Anakin’s seemed more ominous, since they had some idea what the cause was. The transformation to green eyes had happened much faster with Anakin.

Obi-Wan had his fingers at his temple the way he usually did when he had a headache. “Anakin still suspects that I’m secretly drinking, too. Of course I’m not, as you know, but how do you prove a negative?”

“I wish I knew. Qui-Gon never stopped suspecting me, either. But surely not everyone suspects you. One look at you and it should be obvious.”

“Master Windu trusts me again. I guess I should count my blessings.” Obi-Wan filled in his grand-master on the intelligence-sharing and Windu-sketching he had done that day and in the recent past. Everything seemed to be going well, until Anakin flew into a rage about Korkie.

“Remember, Anakin needs recovery, too. He’s still focused on you instead of himself, with the mindset that you’re at the center of everything he says or does. I don’t think he wants you to go back to drinking, but change is always traumatic, even positive change, so he’s grieving the life he knew, no matter how unpleasant it was. He needs to learn that he’s responsible for how he feels, what he thinks, what to do about it all.” Master Dooku tried to refill Obi-Wan’s teacup, found the teapot empty, and got up to boil some more water for tea. He picked up a second teacup while he was at it. He might as well add some fresh tea leaves as well. He could tell from the smell which of the many teas Obi-Wan had been drinking. Their whole lineage from Master Yoda onwards were inveterate tea drinkers, after all.

* * *

Korkie finally found his mother searching for him. “There you are! I was worried about you.” She put a hand on his shoulder instead of hugging him like she would in private. They were still in the Senate building, after all.

“I got lost and ran into Anakin Skywalker.”

Satine smiled at the name. If Anakin was here, then Ben was, too. Maybe they could see him during their visit. She would have to concoct some kind of official-sounding business for that.

“I misspoke in Galactic Basic and now Anakin thinks his master is my dad.” Even though they were speaking Mando’a, Korkie was more careful in how he worded things in the Senate building, since there was no way to guess any individual’s proficiency in any given language.

Satine’s eyes betrayed her horror for just a moment. “Oh dear. He will be quite upset if he believes that. Perhaps we should meet with both of them and clear up any misunderstandings.”

“Um, your lodgings are over this way, next to the Jedi Temple.” The young aide to Senator Organa did not understand Mando’a and was not delighted to be left out of the conversation, but accepted it as a matter of course. As long as the two visiting dignitaries were properly taken care of, it was all right.

As soon as they were alone in their room, Satine sent a message to Obi-Wan’s private comm frequency, giving details of their stay and the location of their accommodations. They needed to see him for a variety of reasons, most of them personal. Satine also hoped to get a tour of the Temple, which might provide a decent cover story for a visit to their daughter in the creche. Their little family would be reunited.

* * *

Master Dooku noticed Obi-Wan’s comm beeping. “Here, you should answer this. It’s your wife. She’ll be willing to help you do some explaining to Anakin.”

Obi-Wan received the device into his hands without looking up. It was odd to have Master Dooku refer to her as his “wife” as if it were the most natural thing in the world and not a secret. Of course, for non-Jedi, having a spouse was a normal thing that did not need to be hidden.

Satine did not know about his addiction or sobriety, as far as he knew. Would she still love him if she found the list he had made of all of his failings and defects of character? She was the only person in the galaxy blissfully unaware of what a pathetic lifeform he was—no, had been. He was still trying to convince himself that he was not pathetic anymore, if he ever had been in the first place.

“Satine? It’s Ben. I got your message that you’re right next to the Temple. Anakin found out about Korkie and now he’s upset. I can meet you at the entrance to the Temple and bring you to my apartment if you’d like.” Obi-Wan typed his response in Mando’a just to be safe.

“You’re going to go meet her, right? Did you ever tell her? Something tells me you didn’t. She deserves to know. These are the things that destroy marriages, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan looked up at his grand-master in surprise. “Were you ever married?”

“Oh, Sith no, of course not. I’m not stupid. But I’ve seen lots of Temple staff marriages fall apart after the alcoholic got sober because of the honesty issue. If the drinking doesn’t drive them away then the dishonesty does. Your wife never knew about your drinking, so she probably isn’t the kind of woman who prefers her husband helpless and pathetic. It’s up to her, though, how she reacts to it. If she doesn’t want anything more to do with you, it’s her right to feel that way.”

“I also worry Anakin will tell everyone I’m secretly married. I’m a terrible Jedi.”

“Being secretly drunk was much worse and they didn’t expel either of us for that. Besides, a lousy Jedi makes a lousy husband. Trying to be a decent husband should make you a better person and therefore a better Jedi. Now, go pick her up. You should never keep a lady waiting.”

Aha, there they are. Obi-Wan’s heart still skipped a beat at the sight of her, no matter how old he got or how many years ago it was that they had married in secret. And Korkie had grown a lot in four years. Obi-Wan gave them a modified diplomatic smile so as not to arouse suspicion in public, but the way the skin around his eyes crinkled betrayed how happy he really was to see them.

He palmed open the entrance for Jedi and ushered them inside. “So, I suppose this is your first visit to Coruscant,” he addressed Korkie. “I’m glad you asked for a full Temple tour. Our Order is misunderstood in a lot of systems. This way.” Obi-Wan went into tour guide mode, hoping that the other Jedi they passed would think it reasonable that the only knight trusted by the Mandalorian government would have been chosen for some kind of outreach program. Korkie’s big blue eyes grew even bigger as he took in the details of his father’s home. There must be something special about it if his father prioritized this over living together as a family.

Obi-Wan was pleased that they had not run into anyone in the halls of the dormitories, until he felt a familiar Force presence. He smiled in relief when he realized that it was only Quinlan Vos. They turned the corner and there he was. “Hello there, Quin. You remember the Duchess of Mandalore?”

“Yes, of course, milady.” It was hard to tell whether he was serious or being funny, but the accompanying gesture of bending down from the waist to kiss her hand made Korkie snicker. “I’m glad to see you well. You’re definitely safe here. Well, I won’t keep you, it was good to see you again.”

“The pleasure was mine.” As soon as he was out of earshot, Satine remarked, “When I first met him I didn’t believe he was a real Jedi knight. I can see that he must be, if he lives here.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Jedi come in all shapes and sizes, all different species. That particular specimen goes undercover a lot.”

They did not run into anyone else the rest of the way to Obi-Wan’s apartment. He palmed it open and ushered them inside. Master Dooku had gotten a fresh pot of tea ready, but Anakin was still in his room, apparently unaware that Master Dooku was even present.

“Satine, this is Master Yan Dooku. He was Qui-Gon’s master.”

Satine extended her hand and smiled. “I knew Qui-Gon. Ben—I mean Obi-Wan—is lucky to have such a grandfather. That’s functionally what you are, isn’t it?”

Master Dooku chuckled. “I suppose so, in a way. You’re not the only person who refers to Obi-Wan as my grandson.”

“Master Dooku knows all about us. We can relax. He knows more about me than anyone else alive.”

“Then you are functionally my grandfather as well.” Satine moved closer to Master Dooku and clasped his extended hand in both of hers. She cast a glance at Korkie. “Korkie.” She did not need to say any more than that.

They took their seats around the kitchen table and began drinking tea, hoping that the commotion would lure Anakin out of his room. Master Dooku looked at Korkie and then Obi-Wan. How they had expected to hide something this obvious was mysterious, as well as charmingly naïve.

“Maybe I should get Anakin. He might listen to me, even if he won’t listen to you.” Master Dooku got up and began knocking on Anakin’s door. Korkie stared into his teacup, feeling guilty for having spilled the secret. Obi-Wan reached for his son’s hand and squeezed it. Satine placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. If they had been sitting on the living room sofa she would have ruffled his hair.

“Anakin won’t come out, but he’s willing to let me in.” Master Dooku reported to the group before seeking and gaining admission to Anakin’s room.

Korkie looked up into Obi-Wan’s face. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

It took a moment for Obi-Wan to register what the boy had just called him. “He was going to find out sooner or later. He’s angry I didn’t tell him sooner, but I didn’t know either until about two years ago. I don’t blame your mother for keeping this a secret. I understand why she did. I was pretty confused and a little angry when I first found out, but now I’m more proud than anything. I liked you even before I knew you were my son.” He spoke mostly in Mando’a with a little bit of Galactic Basic mixed in for the words he couldn’t remember.

“Doesn’t he look just like you did when we first met?” Satine reached up from Obi-Wan’s shoulder and ruffled his hair after all. “Except for the ridiculous padawan haircut, that is. Much better like this.”

“Your mother didn’t even like me when we first met.” Obi-Wan laughed wistfully. “Now she has a daily reminder of me at that age. Hey, you want to see holos from that time? I kept some because Qui-Gon was in them, and because that was the most important mission of my life.”

“I’d love to see them! I want to know more about you.”

Obi-Wan got up, went into the living room, and opened the storage compartment under the sofa. He pulled out the albums of holos and brought them into the kitchen. There were images of Obi-Wan as a crecheling with Bant, Garen, and Reeft, along with Quinlan Vos looking on as an older child. “That’s Quinlan Vos. You met him in the hall just now. And this was when I was in the Initiate class, so around twelve years old. You looked about like this when I first met you.” Obi-Wan smiled at Korkie. He could see Satine’s nose on the boy’s face, but so much of the rest of his looks came from himself.

“And I still do. Even today we were asked if I was over thirteen.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Sorry about that. I had the same problem. Still do, when I shave this beard off. We Kenobi men have baby faces. You can see how tiny and scrawny I looked at thirteen next to Qui-Gon. This is right after he brought me back from Bandomeer.”

Obi-Wan realized that Korkie would not know much about his father’s personal history. Frankly, Anakin should come out and hear this too.

“Oh yes, this is the day we met. You still looked crisp and neat at this point.” Satine pointed herself out in some of the holos from that time. “See the padawan braid? There was also a tiny nerftail at the back, like Anakin has now. I bet you were relieved to finally be able to cut all that off.”

“I would have been, if I hadn’t just lost Qui-Gon. Anyway, this is us at the end of our year on the run. Your mother always looked beautiful but I looked like a mess by this point. It was too late, though, because she’d already married me.” Obi-Wan smirked as Satine laughed.

“You do look just like me. Or rather, I look just like you.” Korkie pushed back an errant strand of hair that had fallen out of his gravity-defying quiff and into his face, where it tickled the tip of his nose.

There were the images of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon just before Naboo, then one of Obi-Wan with Anakin at Qui-Gon’s funeral. “And the victory parade. I’m smiling in this picture but really I was heartbroken. I think Anakin was, too. He loved Qui-Gon, because Qui-Gon was the one who found him and freed him.”

“No braid?”

“Oh yes, that’s right. I had just been knighted in private the night before. Master Yoda performed the ceremony. He cut off my braid with his lightsaber.”

Korkie gasped. “Isn’t that dangerous?” The most dangerous implement his barber ever used on him was a pair of ordinary hairdressing scissors.

“Of course it is. That’s why only Master Yoda, who’s nine hundred years old, or the master of the new knight gets to do it.”

“You’re going to cut off Anakin’s braid with your lightsaber.” Korkie had not thought very much about the weapon clipped to his father’s belt.

“Eventually, when he is knighted.” Obi-Wan showed more of the holos, including the ones of him with a shaggy mullet and some he had barely looked at before, such as the media coverage of his trip to Merisee. He did not look as drunk as he had feared, but there was definitely something amiss in his eyes, besides the encroaching greenness. Ah, here we are. Obi-Wan found the images of his birth family. “You know these people. I heard that Dori-Zan is getting married. I haven’t met the girl.”

Korkie smiled to see the images of his grandparents and uncles. “Uncle Goro! Grandad knew who I was right away. He hardly knew what was what but he did know we were family.”

Obi-Wan thought of his own first meeting with his father. “You’re lucky. He didn’t know who I was. He thought I was his father or Uncle Fuki-Nan, back from the dead.” He flipped through some more of the holos until he came to the most recent ones his mother had sent. He could feel Satine stiffen at the sight of Darth Maul.

“I recognize this man. He wasn’t living with us, but I remember hearing that he was dangerous.”

“Yes, he was. He killed Qui-Gon and wanted to kill me too, for many years, because I cut him in half at the waist. He wanted to kill you as well to make me suffer. He spread deathstick addiction on Stewjon to make me suffer some more. Then my mother found him unconscious on her doorstep in his overdosed state, and took him in. She says she finally convinced him to resume wearing proper clothes and be civilized. I’ve forgiven him and I think he might be almost ready to forgive me, especially now that he has his original legs back. Look how happy he is to have a family. Goro-Ban in particular has gotten close to him, bonding over their recovery from deathstick addiction.”

Obi-Wan was trying to prepare them for his confession, but something else in the images caught Korkie’s eye. “Hey, Uncle Dori copied your haircut, Dad.”

“You’re right. He must have showed his barber an image of me.” Obi-Wan had never noticed this before.

“I want some images of you. Of the two of you, and the three of us.”

“Korkie, that could be dangerous. We could get found out.” Satine’s brow furrowed. She understood wanting to have images of parents, having lost her own early, but she could not risk a family portrait.

“Just one of Dad, then. I might copy his haircut, too.” Korkie joked.

“I know you’re trying to look taller or older with that quiff, but you got my genes. I’m not tiny on Stewjon but I’m considered small here. The baby face is not an advantage for a man but it does make me look trustworthy. My haircut probably would work for you, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go out of your way to look even more like me. Where should I stand for this holo?”

“Sit on the living room sofa. There.” Satine snapped some images and showed them to their son for approval.

“Yes, that’s what I wanted. I guess I’ll look like you do now when I’m your age.”

“With any luck you’ll look better than I do because you won’t make the mistakes I did. Do you know why your grandad was the way that he was?”

“Because he drank too much. Nana told me.” Korkie eyed his father with a quizzical expression. What was he driving at?

“I made the same mistake he did. Anakin is angry at me not just because he didn’t know about us, but because he had to live with my drinking for years. I finally quit drinking, but he still doesn’t trust me and he feels that I lied to him about a lot of things—because I did—and you were one of those things I was lying about.”

Satine gazed down at her husband, who was still sitting on the living room sofa. “I had my suspicions, actually. You drank a lot more wine than I expected when you came to Mandalore—the night Deltine became an entity. Your mother never mentioned your drinking directly but I put two and two together. I never had to suffer because of it and neither did Korkie, but I spent a lot of time thinking about it, especially after I gave up Deltine. I knew you wouldn’t have direct custody, so I felt all right about it, but I did worry. Were you ever drunk on a mission?”

“On several. But they weren’t dangerous missions. I can’t go anywhere now because I don’t have medical clearance. I’m sorry, Korkie. I’m not a hero. I wasn’t there in your life, and I possibly passed on a genetic predisposition to alcoholism. I’m not the Jedi I should be, I’m not much of a husband, and you deserve a much better father. So does Anakin, for that matter.”

“How long have you been sober?” Satine asked.

“About a hundred and twenty days. The withdrawal symptoms have mostly subsided now.”

Satine winced at the mention of withdrawal symptoms; she had seen Goro-Ban struggle when he first got clean. Her Ben had suffered and she had not been there. On the other hand, he had not been there for either of the births she experienced. They needed to do better at communication.

“If you want nothing more to do with me, I’ll understand.” Obi-Wan had switched back to Galactic Basic by now; he looked down at his lap. Satine sat down on the sofa next to him and wrapped her arms around him.

“I promised I would always love you no matter what. I still do. If they kick you out of the Order, I’ll pick you up and take you home with me. I love you, Ben. I want us to communicate better so that we can be there for each other. I’m glad you were honest with me about this.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t have to live with him.” Anakin had emerged from his room, yellow swirling in his eyes. Master Dooku trailed behind, an apologetic look on his face.

“You’re not my brother, Korkie. My mother wouldn’t take me back even for a visit after she had replaced me with a stepson. What makes you think your father will want you when he already has me? You’re not even Force-sensitive.” Anakin was merely camouflaging his hurt and fear with anger, but it was still upsetting.

Before Korkie could respond, Obi-Wan got up from the sofa and turned to face his padawan. “Of course I want him. He’s my son. But that doesn’t change that I still want you, too, and that I see you as being just as much my son as Korkie is. Anakin, your argument is with me, not my children.”

Anakin’s angry yellow eyes narrowed more when he realized the implications of what his master had said. “Children, Master? Plural? I know Galactic Basic is your first language, so you can’t pretend you made a grammar mistake.”

“Yes, plural. I have two biological children that I know of, unless just missing Satine and thinking about her were enough to get her pregnant with more. We’re married, Anakin. I told you that already. I was sixteen. Same as you are now. I’m trying to come clean about everything, but not everything I need to tell you you’re ready for.”

“You lied so much already, but you expect me to believe that you had a grand plan to tell me the truth? And you too, Duchess. You were romancing him behind my back, weren’t you? You asked for him to come specifically because you wanted a date.”

“That’s enough, Anakin.” _Stay calm, center yourself_ , Obi-Wan told himself. “You’re going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our point of view. I’m sure Satine had other reasons, too.”

“I asked for him because my people trusted him. Part of the reason why they trust him is that they know that he cherishes me. They know from his actions, the way he protected me and risked his life for Mandalore. Actions speak louder than words, Anakin. Listen to what my husband does, not just what he says.”

Satine moved closer to the boy, just barely able to look down at him still. She was just a little bit taller than Obi-Wan; Anakin would overtake both of them soon, but he had not yet. She put a hand on his shoulder in a decidedly maternal gesture. “I know you’re angry and feel cheated.” She hoped that acknowledging the boy’s feelings would help. Meanwhile, Korkie had moved to stand behind Obi-Wan and had wrapped himself around his father from behind. “I taught our son that his duties outweighed his feelings about us as parents, and that he still needed education that I was the best person to provide, no matter how he might feel about my having hid the truth about his parentage from him. Now he has two parents and several sets of grandparents. As do you, Anakin. You do have a family that cares about you. You’re not in this alone.”

Anakin opened his mouth to protest but was swept up into Satine’s arms. His eyes returned to a murky green as he realized that Satine was volunteering to be his adoptive mother. He saw the holos of Jeri-Mar Kenobi on the kaf table in front of the sofa and it occurred to him that he also had a grandmother.

Master Dooku ruffled his hair from behind. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him. Obi-Wan’s family is not a threat to Anakin’s position as padawan, not least because Obi-Wan isn’t supposed to have a family at all. Nobody is being replaced. There are simply a lot of people trying to work through the aftermath of his alcoholism, with varying levels of success. It affects the whole family. I didn’t understand that when I got sober, and Qui-Gon paid the price. Nobody denies how you feel, Anakin. It’s just time to let go of your anger into the Force, for your own good.”

“If you want to know all the unflattering and embarrassing things about me at your age, ask my wife. She knows the good, the bad, and the ugly.” Obi-Wan had long since given up on maintaining any sense of dignity around Anakin. The boy’s eyes gleamed bluer than they had in a long time. “We were looking at my old holoalbum. Korkie didn’t grow up around me so there’s a lot about my past that he doesn’t know. You were there for some of it, Anakin.”

Satine released Anakin and they all gathered around the holos. Obi-Wan beamed with pride to see his two boys getting along again as Anakin compared Korkie’s face to the old images of Obi-Wan. He could not possibly choose one boy over the other, for he was hopelessly attached to both of them. Total violation of the Jedi Code felt so right as he hugged his wife to him while his grand-master cum recovery group sponsor engaged with the boys.

Satine was the one who noticed the chrono first. “Oh no, look at the time! Korkie and I had better go back to our accommodations. I’m in Senate hearings all morning but I’m free in the afternoon for more of your Temple tour.”

Obi-Wan had been half-hoping that she would stay overnight, but he knew that this was too risky. Besides, he couldn’t have a non-Jedi overnight guest. There was nothing for it but to take Satine and Korkie back to their lodgings. He would have to content himself with dreaming about his beautiful wife.


	30. How I Met Your Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Padme and Satine bonding, because Padme is no fool. Korkie finds out how to impress a Mandalorian woman from one who knows. Selective rule-follower Obi-Wan is sly and not sorry.

In the morning Satine and Korkie made their way to the Senate building. This time, Korkie stayed close to his mother. They encountered Senator Amidala in the anteroom, waiting for them. “I thought you could join us on our pod. I trust you had a good night’s rest?”

“Yes, we did, thank you. My people generally distrust the Jedi, except for a certain individual, so we are also touring the Temple so that I can tell my people more about them based on observed fact. We saw some of the Temple last night, and will resume our tour this afternoon.”

Senator Amidala’s eyes sparkled for a moment at the mention of the Jedi. Satine recognized this as the behavior of a young woman with a secret crush. She wondered if her own expressions betrayed her in the same way. On the other hand, it was also possible that it took another woman to see it.

“How interesting. My people are generally fond of the Jedi after their role in ending the blockade on us a few years ago. May I ask who the lucky individual is, who has won the trust of the Mandalorians?”

“Originally there were two Jedi with a positive reputation on Mandalore; Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, but you know what happened to Master Jinn. His memory lives on in a positive light with us, but Knight Kenobi is the only living Jedi who is always welcome on Mandalore. Of course, his padawan is welcome too, by extension.”

At the mention of Obi-Wan, Senator Amidala’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly. Satine smiled inwardly as she realized that this girl had had a teenage crush on her husband. Who wouldn’t? The man was so easy to love. The mention of Ben’s padawan elicited a similar reaction, this time accompanied by a smile that was a little too genuine to be a diplomatic pleasantry. This young woman was in the process of falling in love with a Jedi padawan, just as Satine herself had. It was easy to feel sympathy for her when seen in this light. Senator Amidala was certainly more than worthy of Anakin.

“Those are the same Jedi who saved Naboo. I had the pleasure of personal acquaintance with both, as well as with Knight Kenobi’s apprentice, Padawan Skywalker. Despite his youth at the time he, too, played an important role in the liberation of Naboo. Well, anyway, my pod is this way.”

Satine was glad that Senator Amidala had taken an interest in making her feel welcome; she would be a good ally. It was easy to see that the girl was trustworthy. Anyone who had this much affection for Ben and Anakin could not be a true enemy of Satine or Mandalore.

“I’m here because Mandalore has objections to the Tariff Committee’s policies. Food shortages in the Outer Rim have affected our prices and thus our economy. I understand that you share our concerns about the Tariff Committee policies, and of course the Trade Federation.”

“I have seen my people starve because of them. I cannot let their policies contribute to suffering, even in Outer Rim planets—like Tatooine or Jakku—not directly part of the Republic.”

Of course she would mention Tatooine. The two women entered Naboo’s pod, with Korkie trailing behind them. Korkie was a little in awe of the beautiful and poised senator who was not that much older than him, but entirely missed the clues that she had ever had a crush on his father or was developing feelings for Anakin.

“Oh yes,” Senator Amidala turned to face Satine just before they took their seats. “Knight Kenobi shared his concerns about a certain Mandalorian bounty-hunter and his involvement with the Trade Federation. He told me this individual had made an attempt on your life. Jango Fett.”

Satine nodded gravely as they sat down, but inside she was relieved. If Ben saw fit to trust this girl with that kind of information, then she truly was trustworthy. She unobtrusively typed a message in Mando’a to Ben: “Sitting in Naboo pod with Senator Amidala. Mentioned Fett. I trust her too.”

Obi-Wan had just emerged from a routine checkup in the Halls of Healing when he received Satine’s message. He had to smile at what Satine left unsaid but still came through. She must have noticed Senator Amidala’s particular fondness for a certain pair of Jedi, but of course she was not jealous or threatened. It would be perfectly reasonable for Senator Amidala to mention Jango Fett, since he was after all a Mandalorian citizen with a criminal record on his homeworld. Even if Anakin told the senator about Obi-Wan and Satine, the girl could probably be trusted to keep the information to herself and would likely react by adding Satine to her inner circle of trusted confidantes instead of being petty and silly about it.

Satine observed the senators on other pods while the session was brought to order. Even though she was a staunch pacifist with diplomatic training, she had been trained in combat as a child, as all Mandalorians of her generation and older had been, so she was adept at reading intentions from body language. The Neimoidians were slimy as always, which was not a surprise, but the figure who drew her attention was none other than the Supreme Chancellor himself. Despite his air of competence blended carefully with his grandfatherly charm, she could feel that there was something off about him; although former Supreme Chancellor Vallorum had also failed to rein in the Trade Federation, Banking Clan, and Tariff Committee, he had not exuded competence like this, but had seemed harried and overwhelmed. This Supreme Chancellor seemed to Satine like someone who could end corruption if he wanted to, but chose not to. The way that Senator Hrod Milew of Merisee’s posture indicated great affection for the Supreme Chancellor was suspect as well.

During a break between classes, Obi-Wan sent a message to Anakin over their training bond. “I had my checkup this morning, and I’m on track to return to active field duty in another fifty days or so. You might want to know that Satine is sitting with Senator Amidala. They seem to be getting along. They’re natural allies.”

Anakin had mixed feelings when he heard that. If Padme knew that his master had a wife, perhaps she would focus on Anakin more. On the other hand, it was annoying how his master always seemed to get the last laugh on these things. The effort towards greater transparency was to be commended, but still.

Senator Amidala fired up her personal datapad, brought up the files of information she had received from Obi-Wan about Jango Fett’s antics, and passed the device to the Duchess. As head of state of this man’s home planet, she would probably like to know what its rogue citizen was doing. She could see Satine nodding and stifling gasps by turn at the long list of attempted hits on various local politicians who dared get in the way of the Trade Federation or the Tariff Committee’s agenda, as well as the report on the clone and droid army shenanigans. Satine felt her face burn with shame and indignation that a son of Mandalore was doing this.

Korkie glanced over his mother’s shoulder but knew better than to peer at a document that he had not been authorized to view. If there was anything in it that he needed to know, his mother would share the information anyway. He focused instead on observing the Senate session. A central pod floated above all the others in the middle of the room, with the Supreme Chancellor and his aides on it, while the walls were lined with pods, like a sort of inside-out pinecone. Senator Milew was speaking, but so far he had done nothing but praise the Supreme Chancellor for ten minutes. Nobody deserved that kind of adulation, as far as Korkie was concerned.

To his surprise, his mother passed the datapad to him, too. He controlled the urge to react when he saw his father’s name listed at the top of the report as the author. There was a lot to be proud of, despite his father’s insistence that he was not a hero. No wonder he stayed here instead of coming to Mandalore to live; this was his duty. Korkie could understand that. He passed the datapad back to his mother, who in turn returned the device to Senator Amidala.

Satine listened to the Senate session in light of the new information she had just received. Her hunches were correct. It seemed obvious that there was serious corruption high up in the Republic’s government, a rot bigger than greediness on the part of the Trade Federation or Tariff Committee. And what of the clones? Were they Mandalorian citizens, or the property of the Trade Federation, i.e. slaves? Slavery was supposedly illegal. Or perhaps they would be Neimoidian citizens. The first generation of clones was nearing maturity. Something would have to be done.

“Saw your report on Fett. Senator shared.” Satine sent a quick message to Ben. He would want to know that she was now up-to-date on all of this. How had he gathered all of this intelligence while drunk? Usually she would dismiss conspiracy theories whispered by a drunkard, but the date on the report indicated that he had shared it with the senator after he had gotten sober. He must have faith in his information. It made sense to Satine, but it also felt true in ways she could not articulate.

Obi-Wan smiled to himself. He had been planning on sharing that report with Satine anyway. When he saw her again in the afternoon he could also ask about her impressions of what was going on in the Senate. It occurred to him that a joint meditation session with Anakin, in which he shared his personal memories, might be a good way to earn the boy’s trust again. Perhaps the memories could be parceled out as rewards for Anakin working on his mental techniques. If Korkie had been Force-sensitive, it would have been nice to forge a bond with him as well. It was not ideal that he could not treat his two boys perfectly equally.

“Lunch including Senator Amidala?” Obi-Wan sent a response. He might as well let Anakin know as well if this materialized. Senator Amidala was perceptive enough that seeing him interact with Satine might tip her off, but Anakin would probably tell her anyway. Who knew what that boy had already told her about confidential Jedi business. If Senator Amidala was to be privy to every detail of their lives, he might as well oversee the information leaks himself. He shook his head at the thought of battles to come when Anakin inevitably took it into his head to ask the senator to marry him. Senator Amidala probably had more sense than that, but if she did not, Obi-Wan would not be in much of a position to warn them against secret marriage as an option. For all his reputation as a model senior padawan, Obi-Wan had been surprisingly reckless in his youth. Perhaps he still was, the way he trusted the senator. Whenever he was allowed to go on missions again, he almost hoped to get some insanely dangerous ones to save from disaster. Anakin would enjoy that. Satine would worry, but she knew him too well to be surprised, and wouldn’t tell his mother. Korkie could use a little shaking up.

* * *

Obi-Wan met Satine and Korkie, along with Senator Amidala, inside the Senate building. Anakin would not be joining them, because he was behind in his schoolwork and had to work through his lunch break. Of course he would be in this position. That boy was always putting big projects off to the last minute. He was probably swearing in Huttese right now. The end result, whether a report or a test, would be stellar, though.

As soon as she saw Obi-Wan, Senator Amidala broke into a genuine smile. “I’m so glad you could invite us to lunch. I had no idea you were still so close to the Duchess as to have her personal comm frequency.” At that moment Obi-Wan realized that he should have invited the senator first, but it was too late now. Besides, she was already visually comparing Korkie and Obi-Wan. The girl was too astute not to notice that the boy’s features were a perfect blend of his parents’.

Satine saw the interaction and understood that Senator Amidala was figuring things out as well. She caught Ben’s eye, nodded, then smiled at the senator in a calculatedly bashful manner. Obi-Wan ushered them to the bistro where he had once overhead the aides talking about Geonosis. They would be less likely to be recognized here. It was mildly embarrassing to reenter an establishment that had seen him in his old drunken state, but he had only been here once, and it was a reasonable choice for lunch, unlike the Outlander Club. He would probably never go there again unless it were part of his mission, and in that case he would have to swallow his pride and fear and tell his mission partner about his addiction.

Senator Amidala smiled when she realized that most of the other booths were occupied by senators’ aides. She would have to keep this place in mind for clandestine information-gathering. Perhaps her body double ladies-in-waiting could infiltrate here. Of course she would share intelligence with the Kenobi-Skywalker team. That would be a legitimate reason to contact them, and for a worthy cause.

Satine noticed Ben ordering iced tea to go with his lunch; she had seen the wines listed on the lunch menu. A quick glance at Senator Amidala revealed that she had also noticed this. So she knew. Did everyone on Coruscant know that her husband was a recovering alcoholic?

As soon as the food arrived, Senator Amidala relaxed. “You can call me Padme, all of you. I never liked to be treated like I was better than everyone else even when I was queen. And I can see that you three are already on a first-name basis.”

“I should say so.” Obi-Wan dropped his gaze into his tea. “Anakin will probably tell you this about me sooner or later, so I might as well tell you myself. Your suspicions are correct. This is one of my biggest secrets, that could get me expelled from the Jedi Order, but I trust you. The Duchess is my wife, and of course this is our son. Anakin knows.”

His other big secret also went without saying. It took Padme a moment to realize that he was also well aware of Anakin’s feelings for her. Of course he would be, he had experienced this himself. He was also not in much position to censure either of them for a forbidden attachment. With the realization that her teenage crush was in fact a family man, Padme felt a little piece of her youth dying inside of her, but she did not mind. It was flattering that he trusted her with the secret. Besides, she could be honestly glad that the woman who had won his heart was Satine.

All four of them stayed alert at the bistro, listening to the conversations around them. So far there was nothing interesting. And then he saw her. A Devaronian woman entered the establishment. He recognized her with a sinking feeling. This was the same aide who had harassed him on his mission to her planet. What was she doing here? He was just about to try a mind-trick on her to make her go away when she noticed Korkie and then Obi-Wan himself sitting across from the boy on the end of the booth bench.

“Ah, two pretties today. Red hair! Me likey.” Her hands were already reaching for Korkie and Obi-Wan’s hair. Did she even recognize Obi-Wan, or was she simply reacting to the fact that there were two ginger males present?

“Hey, please don’t do that. It’s not appropriate.” Satine spoke up, glowering at the woman.

“And you are?” the woman smirked.

“The boy’s legal guardian. This is a business meeting. Please don’t disrupt it.” Satine wished she could tell that woman more forcefully to keep her hands off of the two men who meant the most to her in the whole galaxy, but was not in a position to answer questions about relationship status.

By this point Padme was also glaring at the woman. As queen and senator she had already encountered her share of smarmy, conceited fools who thought sexual harassment was fun. Perhaps it was, as long as one was the harasser and not the victim. She had only heard rumors about Devaronian women from male colleagues before, but it was quite shocking to actually witness this.

Once the woman had joined her companions at a booth in the back of the bistro Obi-Wan sighed. “I had a mission to her home planet a few years ago. Devaron is run by women just like her. In fact, she was the aide to the Foreign Minister and she kept trying to grab my backside. There was a lot of that kind of behavior and worse. That’s another life lesson for Korkie. Watch out for Devaronian women. They love to harass human male gingers. Also, never treat anyone like that yourself.”

Satine looked pensive for a moment, then decided to ask her question. “Did they ask for you specifically, like when you were sent to Merisee? Did the Council know you would be treated like that? Is it possible that someone was trying to keep you so preoccupied with deflecting that kind of behavior that you wouldn’t be able to pay full attention to the details of the negotiation?”

“They certainly tried to get me very drunk. Wait a minute, I have a copy of my report from that mission.” Obi-Wan pulled it up on his datapad. He had not reread it in years, but now he was sharing it with the others at his table.

“This is classic Tariff Committee behavior.” Padme commented. “They stir up piracy and then make new deals with their cronies. I wouldn’t be surprised if Senator H. M. is involved in this.” She refrained from giving the full name, but they all knew who she meant. In retrospect the similarities to Merisee were striking.

“If Devaron failed to contain its piracy problem, then this could be used as justification for that clone army. Not to mention the revitalization of the spice trade thanks to my adopted brother.” Obi-Wan shuddered to think that the mysterious Sith master could be orchestrating all of this. But why would the Sith target him specifically? Was it because of his padawan? If so, then the color change of Anakin’s eyes was not a good sign, as it meant that the Sith were already meddling with him.

* * *

After their meal Obi-Wan brought Satine and Korkie into the Jedi Temple again for the second part of their tour, while Senator Amidala returned to the Senate building. In light of their information sharing, it seemed clearer than ever that there was Sith manipulation of the Republic government at a very high level. Obi-Wan struggled to get images of the Supreme Chancellor from his withdrawal hallucinations out of his mind as he showed off the Archives. Outside visitors were not allowed into the main part of the space, but he could show the facilities from a distance. The sheer amount of information stored in the Archives was truly staggering.

He showed the dojo, the refectory, the gardens, and the classroom wings of the Temple in the same cursory manner before leading his family to the creche. Obi-Wan began to smile as soon as he felt Deltine’s Force-presence. Sure enough, she felt him as well, because she started running towards him as soon as he came into view. He scooped her up in his arms the way he always did, smoothing down her hair and straightening her collar. The little girl began to chatter excitedly about levitating objects. She refrained from calling him “Daddy,” as he had taught her to shield that thought already. Little Deltine recognized her mother and brother, but was careful not to show it with too much enthusiasm. Obi-Wan transferred his tiny daughter to his wife’s arms. It occurred to him that this was the first time that all four of them were together.

They could not stay in the creche too long, because the younglings would tire quickly, but Satine was happy. Her baby was clearly well-provided for, happy, and strongly bonded to her father. All of the chatter about levitating objects suggested to Satine that perhaps Force-sensitive children really did belong in the Temple. Besides, this was the kind of childhood Ben had had, and he had turned out all right.

At the end of the tour Obi-Wan ushered them back into his apartment. There was plenty to talk about. Korkie was delighted to hear more about his father’s early life, and there were even some incidents Satine did not know. She knew a lot of the stories about Obi-Wan’s crecheling, Initiate, and junior padawan days because he had told them when they were together in hiding that year, but she did not know the stories from after his return to Coruscant. In any case it helped to see the physical places where the stories took place.

Anakin knew to come straight home after his afternoon classes because of a quick message from his master through the training bond. “Hey, Korkie, you want to see my droids?” Anakin had not entirely put away his feelings of anger and hurt towards his master, but he had accepted that none of this was Korkie’s fault, so that it was not fair to treat the boy badly.

Korkie’s eyes went wide when he saw Anakin’s room. The rest of the apartment had been clean and tidy, almost excessively so, but this room was different. Had Anakin brought Tatooine’s sandstorms with him? Anakin smirked when he saw the other boy’s face. “My master is a neat freak, but I’m not. I need chaos. This is my sanctuary. I guess you took after your dad, because your room was pretty tidy. This room used to belong to him when he was a padawan, but now it’s a no-Kenobi zone. He doesn’t come in here very often. I know where everything is, so it’s fine.”

Anakin beckoned to Korkie to come into the middle of the room, then pointed out a corner piled high with droid parts. There may have been a workbench under there at one time, but it was impossible to tell now. Korkie’s eyes slowly adjusted to the mess until he could pick out individual objects. Then he smiled in recognition at many of the half-completed droids. He had built many of the same kinds of droid himself.

Obi-Wan contained his desire to touch Satine beyond the most chaste of gestures. She was still young enough to bear more children, but neither could take responsibility for that. He did want to show her his bedroom, though, so they left the door open purposely. Satine smiled when she saw the tidy space that was so classically Ben. There was only a sketchbook on the nightstand and a corkboard on one wall that displayed childish drawings and Anakin’s latest report card. She inspected the report card. “This is such a classic fatherly thing to do. You’re trying to communicate that you expect excellence but also that you’re proud of his efforts. And the drawings, of course.” She picked up the sketchbook, expecting it to be full of Anakin’s childhood scribbles, but was surprised to find a truly skillful portrait of herself on a random page she had opened. A glance at the signature on the bottom right to the bust revealed the artist to be her Ben.

“I missed you.” He stated simply. She flipped through the rest of the drawings and saw that many of them were of Jedi in motion, but there were a fair number of Anakin as well. Satine had had no idea Ben was talented in this way.

She placed her index finger into the groove of his cleft chin. “I knew you could sing, but I didn’t know you could draw. Maybe I can still get a song out of you. Korkie has never heard you sing. I told him you learned all the proper songs for Mandalorian courtship. Has Anakin heard you sing? I know your parents have.”

“I used to sing to Anakin a lot when he was younger and prone to night terrors. Most of the songs I know are either lullabies or drinking songs. Aside from the Mandalorian courtship songs, that is. Now Darth Maul is studying music, of all things. I still can’t imagine him singing.”

Eventually everyone drifted to the kitchen table, where Obi-Wan placed the teapot. Anakin preferred kaf, but understood the social aspect of sharing tea. It was important to his master and his master before him, after all. Not everything his master did was reprehensible. “Are you going to sing, Ben?” Satine teased him again.

Korkie’s face lit up. He had heard the stories but not the actual songs, after all. “Yes, Dad, I want to hear it! How to court a Mandalorian woman through song. You’re my dad, it’s your job to pass this on.”

Anakin stared at Korkie. It had never occurred to him that his master would be responsible for teaching Korkie how to be a Mandalorian man. It made sense that there were traditional courtship rituals, but it would be strange for a Stewjoni Jedi to know them. Would he have to learn a set of courtship rules for Naboo? Perhaps the Archives would contain information on that.

“Why do you call him Ben?” Anakin could no longer contain his curiosity. He had thought he knew what was important to know about his master, but there was more to the man that he had thought. It was clear that this woman had played a large role in shaping his master.

“When we were on the run, we invented code names for each other. He was Ben, I was Tine. His code name stuck because I was always using it. At first I used it to complain when he did something I didn’t like, but then I fell in love with him and started using it more like a pet name. Mine is just a childhood nickname.” Satine smiled mischievously. “Are you going to court me again or not, Ben?” she added in Mando’a.

Obi-Wan blushed slightly and nodded before beginning the traditional courtship song he had learned for her all those years ago. Anakin was surprised to realize that he knew the song. It was one that his master used to sing to him when he was particularly upset. Had Satine been his stepmother all along, then?

Korkie’s expression was a mixture of horror, fascination, embarrassment, curiosity, and pride. He would need to learn to do this himself. It was strange to imagine his parents courting, especially at his age.

When Obi-Wan finished, Satine leaned over for the traditional kiss reward. She patted Obi-Wan’s hand, then turned to her son. “And this is how a proper Mandalorian man courts his lady. You should have seen your father singing this to me before our first kiss. He was covered in mud—so was I—and the cave was dark except for the blue light from his lightsaber. I couldn’t see much of him, except for his eyes and the desperate concentration on his face. He was so serious back then. He actually thought I would refuse to kiss him if he got the Mando’a words wrong. I taught him the song in the first place precisely because I wanted him to kiss me! Actually I wanted to kiss him, and not stop there, but I was young and stupid. I thought it wasn’t proper for the lady to initiate the action.”

“You were always in the driver’s seat, Tine.” He chuckled with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “It was all part of my mission, from a certain point of view. I was supposed to keep you safe and properly cared for. That involved a lot more than what my master had in mind. I needed to learn not just the language but the customs of Mandalore in every aspect of life in order to fit in and evade detection. Including courtship and wedding rituals. She hooked the rule-follower in me as I followed those procedures to the letter, and found myself married as a result, which was not an unhappy discovery. After Qui-Gon came back for me I redoubled my efforts in following the Jedi Code as much as I could make out what the rules were, but you know that I didn’t have much of a role model for that.”

Anakin still found it mysterious and disgusting that his master could have such an effect on women, even under those circumstances. Why did women find him irresistible? A disturbing problem it is indeed, as Master Yoda would say.


	31. Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to our regular program of angst. Joint meditation and nightmare sharing reveal some uncomfortable truths.

Obi-Wan waited outside of Anakin’s classroom. The boy had been a little bit more accepting of his guidance ever since Satine and Korkie visited. It probably helped that when Anakin eventually did complain to Padme about Obi-Wan’s clandestine marriage, she already knew about it and had formed a positive impression of his wife and son. Eventually Obi-Wan would have to tell Anakin about Deltine, but so far the boy had not asked about the other child that his master had mentioned.

Hey, was that Ahsoka? Obi-Wan smiled to see the young girl proudly swinging her padawan braid as she walked. She waved and smiled at someone before breaking into a run; that was probably her master. He could not see Argorria from here. It was a relief that Ahsoka was happy, because he had not seen her master at meetings lately. Perhaps she simply went to different groups than him, but he had a nagging suspicion that she had stopped going altogether. He realized that it was around the time that she had taken a padawan that he had stopped seeing her at recovery meetings.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan always smiled at the boy whenever he met with him anywhere. Anakin seemed to be slowly adjusting to the idea that his master, whatever his past failings, was trying to do better now, and had not had a drink in almost half a year. Random checks of the usual hiding places had never turned up any more bottles, while sniff tests of his master’s clothes and person had always been negative. Obi-Wan endured the indignity of having his apprentice check his dirty laundry for any telltale spills or that acidic tang that human bodies give off when the liver is metabolizing excessive amounts of alcohol. Every time Obi-Wan had a routine checkup at the Halls of Healing, he had to request a copy of the report for Anakin to confirm that his master’s blood alcohol was zero. This was perhaps not healthy behavior on Anakin’s part, but Obi-Wan accepted that he had lost his padawan’s trust. The boy always evaded mind healers and support groups for the children of alcoholics, arguing that Obi-Wan was technically not really his dad.

Instead, Master Dooku tried to meditate with him sometimes. Lately Obi-Wan had finally gotten Anakin to consider sitting with him on their meditation mats by promising to show him some of his own personal memories. The boy seemed a little disappointed that what he knew of Obi-Wan’s past was not as scandal-ridden or shameful as he had hoped. There was nothing extraordinary about him, just a very serious, rather insecure, surprisingly reckless little boy who had had some traumatic experiences early in his padawan days, and had not broken any major rules save marrying Satine, with the possible exception of deserting the Order to join a civil war. He was not a bad seed by any stretch of the imagination.

Obi-Wan was finally able to spar in the dojo now. Lately he had taken to alternating between Soresu and Ataru in order to force Anakin to practice both forms. Sometimes Master Dooku showed up to drill him in Makashi, but increasingly Anakin was stuck just with his own master. He really ought to count his blessings, considering how much he would have wanted a functional master even just a year ago, but somehow it did not feel like a blessing. It was the thought of showing Knight Ventress and Alema his progress that drove him forward.

After they left the dojo in the late afternoon and Obi-Wan had dinner on the table, he brought up his desire to work with Anakin on mental techniques. “You’re going to have to let me in to your mind. I’ll let you in to mine, and I’ll even show you my memories. My whole life if you like. I wanted to present the details in a controlled context where my secrets would be helpful instead of harmful.”

“It’s always all about you, isn’t it? Even now. I saw you kiss the Duchess at the kitchen table, I think that’s enough intimate detail from your life.”

“I just thought you wanted to know all my secrets. It certainly sounded like it. You were angry that I had even had any. Besides, the experiences that shaped me affect you indirectly. I thought you might like to know, that’s all. Anyway, I’m off to my meeting. I expect the washing up after dinner and your homework to be done when I get back. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin still seemed rather sullen. This was to be expected, since he had had years to adjust to having a drunken master but only half a year to readjust to having a functioning one. Obi-Wan smiled sadly as he centered himself. He would just have to be patient and accept the consequences of his actions.

Sure enough, there was no sign of Argorria at the meeting, but Master Dooku was there in holo form. He must be on a mission somewhere. Obi-Wan sat in his usual seat after he had helped set up the meeting. Today it was his turn to lead the recitation of the Jedi Code. “There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no chaos; there is harmony. There is no death; there is the Force.” He had finally gotten used to introducing himself as “Obi-Wan, alcoholic.”

Obi-Wan recognized the main speaker as Argorria’s master. Of course he talked about himself and his own journey, but there were plenty of references to Argorria in it. How she had been his first choice as padawan but he had not felt worthy of her, causing him to be cool around her until she believed the problem to be herself, the years in which she had to cover for him and forge his signature on mission reports and write up her own actions as if they were his achievements. Obi-Wan had also taken over the writing and filing of mission reports, including simulating Qui-Gon’s signature, by the time he was fifteen, but this was Qui-Gon’s idea. Obi-Wan was simply better suited to paperwork and bureaucracy.

It occurred to Obi-Wan that Argorria had internalized her master’s shame and gotten very good at masking his failures—excellent training for life as an alcoholic in her own right. Was this what Obi-Wan had done to Anakin? If Argorria were still ashamed at some level of the legacy of addiction in her lineage, would she try to conceal this part of her past from her padawan, perhaps in the mistaken belief that this would end the cycle? Was this why she had stopped coming? At least Anakin knew all the sordid details of his master’s life and many errors, clearly much more than he wanted.

When he got home after the meeting, Anakin was a bit more relaxed. He had finished his homework and done what was required of him at home. Obi-Wan could easily guess that his apprentice had spent the rest of the evening in his room, working on a droid. This always seemed to help calm him. His eyes looked a little bluer, too.

“Ahsoka’s master wasn’t there tonight. I did some thinking and meditating; I see you did, too. Ready for a joint session?” These things were best approached breezily. Now was his chance, since Anakin was clearly in a decent mood. Obi-Wan reached for his memory stone in his pocket. It would be interesting if holding it would project the images in Anakin’s mind, too, or if that only worked for Obi-Wan himself.

“What are you holding?” Anakin responded in alarm. Obi-Wan realized that Anakin must think the stone was a bottle cap or perhaps even a deathstick. He pulled the stone out of his pocket and handed it to Anakin.

“It’s just a rock.” The boy glared.

“Not just a rock. It’s a memory stone. It has all of my memories embedded in it. Qui-Gon gave it to me for my lifeday early in our partnership, and I implanted all of my memories into it, which helped me survive a memory wipe. You know how droids are memory-wiped when they are sold. That almost happened to me. I continued to add my memories to the stone as I got older. Can you feel the Force around this stone? It’s a river stone originally. I thought it might help you meditate with me.”

Anakin took the stone in his hands and felt its weight. Suddenly he started seeing images—of beautiful blondes. Not just Siri and Satine, but there were others as well. There was even the odd brunette in the mix. “Hey, who are all of these women who are looking at you with those eyes? Do you mind-trick them or something?”

Obi-Wan frowned at the accusation and accessed the images over the training bond. “Oh, her. That’s Lena. I saved her life so she could testify against her planet’s corrupt government, and she fell in love with me. I had to tell her I was not available to pursue a relationship with her. I told her it was because I was a Jedi, but actually I was already married to Satine by then. I couldn’t very well tell her that.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, then changed the subject. “Hey, I see my step-brother. What is he doing in your early memories?”

“I used to think I had only one brother. Now I know my birth family, and the boy I saw was not among them. I eventually realized that I was seeing your step-brother and not any of my own brothers.”

Anakin frowned. “You had so many exciting missions, and I haven’t had very many. I would have enjoyed your missions more than the ones I got. It’s not fair.”

“I suppose being a child soldier and being directly involved in the death of a classmate as a little Initiate, not to mention being banished to Bandomeer on my thirteenth lifeday and the aftermath of the turning of Qui-Gon’s padawan before me to the Dark Side are just excitement to you. They were traumatic for me. I wouldn’t wish those experiences on you.”

“What’s this? Here’s another blonde. She’s got a blaster or a syringe or something. She’s beautiful, but what is she doing to Qui-Gon?”

“That must be the time a scientist kidnapped Qui-Gon to conduct experiments on him. I didn’t fall in love with her, and she definitely didn’t fall in love with me, because I broke into her lab and rescued my master, quite ruining her experiments. She was very cross with me afterwards. That was a nightmare. When Qui-Gon took a blood sample from you the night he stayed in your mother’s house, he sent the sample to me on the ship to run the midichlorian count blood test. You were off the charts. When I first saw those numbers, I felt a chill run down my spine. I hadn’t even met you yet, but I could easily imagine someone like her—Jenna Zan Arbor was her name, as I remember—trying to capture you for twisted experiments. In some ways I’m still a little scared for you. I know you’re used to rough characters from Tatooine, but I had been tortured any number of times by the time I was your age. I didn’t want that for you.”

Anakin’s eyes grew wide at some of the stories, and the implication that he would be a prime target for rogue scientists. “But I thought we were supposed to stop bad things like that from happening.”

“We are, and I did. But it takes a toll, Anakin. Being a Jedi, having this gift of Force-sensitivity, it brings a certain responsibility. Somewhere along the line, I started relying on my connection to Qui-Gon to help me deal with the trauma. When he was taken away from me, I was offered a bottle of whiskey by a well-meaning citizen of Naboo. I learned to drown my sorrows, worries, and trauma, when I should have been meditating. I didn’t like meditation either when I was a junior padawan, but I see now that our meditation habits that we form as padawans make a difference in whether we can handle Jedi life or not. You’re certainly old enough to handle missions; that was never the issue for me. I didn’t think I was properly equipped to ground you in the face of trauma the way Qui-Gon did for me.”

Anakin’s expression softened for a moment before his eyes flashed yellow again. “You _are_ trying to hold me back, aren’t you? You don’t want me to be knighted early. You need a crutch for yourself, is that it? You want to shield me from the world out there, but you neglected me at home. And now you expect me to feel sorry for you and your pathetic childhood?”

Obi-Wan sighed and tried to center himself. There was no denying that he had damaged Anakin. He needed to be patient with the boy, but these yellow-eyed episodes were alarming. “I want you to be knighted when you’re ready. We have work to do in order for that to happen. That’s what I was trying to do tonight. I’m working on myself to become a better person and a better Jedi. We never stop learning, Anakin. I’m still learning how to deal with my Force-enhanced emotions in a healthy way, but I thought I could share what I have learned in the past half-year in addition to what Qui-Gon taught me. I’d be in even worse shape without these techniques.”

“When I’m ready. That means when you’re ready. It’s because of you that I can’t get the experiences I need to _be_ ready.”

“I’ll be cleared for active duty in a couple of days, Anakin. After that who knows what kind of adventures we’ll have. The Council will want us in the field, I’m sure, because I’ve made it clear that you need field experience.”

Anakin calmed down a little bit as he handed back the stone. Obi-Wan put the stone back in his pocket and focused on his breathing, conveying to Anakin through his eyes that he was to do the same. In and out, in and out, until the two were in unison. At this point Obi-Wan lowered the outermost of his mental shields, revealing a tropical rainforest in the midst of a thundershower. Anakin blinked, then closed his eyes to enter. His master was surprisingly passionate beneath his collected exterior. On the other hand, seeing his master’s memories from his youth had prepared him somewhat for that revelation, as had the reenactment of his courtship.

Once Anakin was comfortable in the rainforest, Obi-Wan lowered the next set of shields, revealing a sandy beach. The waves lapped against the sand in a soothing repetitive movement, until the tide began to come in and the waves started to crash more dramatically. Anakin hated sand, but wet sand from a beach was a little better. It was still coarse and irritating, and it did get everywhere even when wet, but it was still gentler than Tatooine. Anakin realized, however, that he could not underestimate the undertow. This was his master’s middle sanctum, where he let his closest friends come in, probably Master Dooku and Bant.

Obi-Wan then thinned the shields to his innermost being. There was a little boy, perhaps two years old, being trampled underfoot by a drunk grownup, who bellowed to another drunk man who was even older; the toddler grew into a boy of about six, who was being taunted as “Oafy-Wan” by another boy with white-blond hair, who grew bigger and older until both boys were maybe twelve or thirteen, at which point the towheaded boy screamed and fell to his death. Obi-Wan did not lower these shields all the way; that would be too dangerous. Anakin continued to observe as Obi-Wan faced rejection and failure at every step, up until Qui-Gon’s death.

Obi-Wan then gently restored the shields, sending Anakin back out across the beach, then out into the rainforest, until he had left Obi-Wan’s mind and returned to his own, with Obi-Wan following. Anakin did not have three sets of shields, but he did have the Tatooine desert sandstorm. Obi-Wan made his way to an oasis in the desert, where he recognized the face of Padme, which slowly shifted to that of another woman whom he had seen once before. Who was she? Obi-Wan had been drunk when he met her. Ah, of course. That must be Shmi Skywalker. As he watched, the face slowly turned back into Padme’s face.

Obi-Wan scaled the rock face at the center of Anakin’s mindscape to find an overgrown valley on the other side. This was not luxuriant verdure, but choking weeds with thorns. There was a large animal in one corner, which Obi-Wan recognized as a Krayt dragon. He had only ever seen illustrations and never a real live one, but of course Anakin had. This dragon seemed oddly friendly and content, until Obi-Wan saw that it had a collar around its neck, attached to a chain. It was tame. Following the chain with his eyes, he saw a little man smirking as he laid out drugged bait for the dragon. The man wore a black hood, obscuring his face, but Obi-Wan recognized him. He was vaguely familiar. The man stood next to a plant with big, red teeth-lined flowers like the ones he had seen when first detoxing in the Halls of Healing. The flowers trailed wherever the man looked. When he turned his head toward Obi-Wan, the flowers began extending their vines towards him, until the man raised his arms and produced blue Force-lightening. A pair of yellow eyes gleamed under the hood and Obi-Wan began to feel his airways constrict. One of the flowers was mere feet away from reaching him. Obi-Wan clambered back up the rock face and back through the desert.

Master and apprentice opened their eyes at the same time. Anakin’s eyes were still yellow for a moment until they calmed back down to green. There was Sith infiltration into his brain. The poor boy was living with this inside his head, when it was not even a part of him. Obi-Wan’s trauma had at least been organic to himself, being derived from his own life experiences, but this was different. He had completely failed to shield the boy from a more insidious and immediate threat.

“You saw Padme and my mother, didn’t you.” Anakin’s flat whine was enough of an accusation.

“Yes, I did. You saw Qui-Gon inside my head, along with my father, grandfather, a fellow crecheling named Bruck Chun, and all of my failures and inadequacies. That’s the point of the exercise. Letting someone else in is a good way to see clearly for oneself. I think it’s healthy to have an oasis, although you have to be careful about over-attachment. I was over-attached to Qui-Gon so his sudden loss unmoored me. Don’t let that happen with you.”

“Why didn’t I see Satine and Korkie in there?” Anakin frowned. If his master loved them, shouldn’t they be in his mind, at least in the middle level? For that matter, shouldn’t Anakin himself be in there somewhere? Perhaps his master did not care so much about him after all.

“What we hold onto are traumas and fears. You hold on to your fear of losing the two women who mean the most to you, while I hold on to my fears of inadequacy and the traumas that prove that inadequacy to myself. I’m not so afraid of losing Satine. I thought she might not want me after I told her about my alcoholism, but I was fully prepared to lose her. I didn’t, though.”

Anakin’s eyes flashed yellow again. “You deserved to lose her. If she had been living with you these past few years you would have. She wouldn’t be kissing you and touching you like that. You were pathetic and disgusting. You still are.”

“That may be so, but that’s her decision. I think this is enough for tonight. I’m going to bed. Good night, Anakin.”

As soon as he was alone in his bedroom, Obi-Wan sent a message to Master Dooku over their training bond. “I was meditating with Anakin and I found evidence of Sith infiltration in his brain. I’m worried.”

“Tell Master Yoda. You should monitor this situation, but not alone.” The response was quick. Obi-Wan had expected Master Dooku not to believe him at first. This alacrity to accept his statement was even more troubling than a dismissal would have been. Had Obi-Wan really missed the signs before, being too drunk to notice, or had he seen them but chalked them up to hangovers or withdrawal? Now that he was half a year sober, his observations were unreservedly his own. Obi-Wan nestled into his bed, wishing that Satine could be next to him.

Anakin bowed down onto one knee. “What must I do to become a knight, Master?”

“Use your lightsaber and eliminate not just the men, but the women and the children, too. They are animals. That is your first trial. Exterminate every last Kenobi.” A disembodied but familiar voice intoned.

Anakin’s eyes glowed yellow. “It shall be done, my master.”

“Remember, there is another.”

“His sister.”

“Yes, my apprentice. There can only be one master. You shall not be a knight but a lord, for you shall kill the Chosen One!”

“Anakin, no!”

“You held me back. I hate you!” Anakin unsheathed his lightsaber. Obi-Wan stared in disbelief at the blood-red blade. Somewhere a man was singing the Mandalorian courtship songs in a mocking baritone; Obi-Wan knew that this was Darth Maul, romancing his soon-to-be widow. Obi-Wan felt a righteous, protective anger bubbling up into his mind, but he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, repeating the Jedi Code to himself. When he came to “There is no death” he felt the red lightsaber make contact with his shoulder and slice through his body. “Anakin, I loved you…”

Obi-Wan woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare. Past nightmares did not feel like this, at least, not his drunken ones. Perhaps a drink could chase it away. Obi-Wan’s hand reached under his bed instinctually, and found a bottle that was not supposed to be there. Had they missed one in their initial sweep of the apartment when he first got sober? Sober. _No, I’m not going to take a drink._ Obi-Wan let go of the bottle and got out of the bed. He got on his hands and knees on the floor and searched under his bed, intending to dump out any alcohol he found, but there were no bottles there. Perhaps this was a trial sent by the Force. He remembered the drugged meat being fed to the Krayt dragon inside Anakin’s head.

Anakin. Obi-Wan padded barefoot to Anakin’s door and opened it a sliver. Anakin was sleeping, but there was a troubled expression on his face. His mental shields were down, allowing Obi-Wan to enter his mind. He saw Padme in the oasis, not alone but with a large crowd of women. Obi-Wan recognized Siri, Satine, Asajj, Alema, even Bant, before he saw Lena, Jenna Zan Arbor, and dozens more women from his memory. Padme noticed him and beckoned him closer. That was when he saw that the women were crowded around a figure. Coming even closer, he saw that it was a man with long, ginger hair and no clothes on. Asajj held up a pair of clippers and plunged them into his red tresses, which seemed to serve as a signal to the other women to begin licking and kissing and squeezing the man’s body, but not his face, which Obi-Wan saw for the first time. He had had a bad feeling about this already, but recognized the face as his own. Was Anakin jealous of the female attention he believed his master received undeservedly?

The dream version of himself was struggling, clearly not enjoying his popularity. The women seemed to prefer him shorn, which prompted a cry in Anakin’s voice: “Why must you hold me back? I hate you!”

Obi-Wan gently extracted himself from Anakin’s head and entered the room, crouching by the side of his padawan’s bed. He knew Anakin would be waking up with a start. He began to send calming waves of the Force through their training bond, until Anakin’s eyes opened. It was still dark, but Obi-Wan knew they were green, closer to yellow than to blue. “Master…” Anakin’s hand reached for his master’s head and slowly ran through the cropped hair.

“You were having a nightmare and I felt it. I had one too. That’s why I’m up. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Did you watch my nightmare about you? Peeping Tom! How about I look at your nightmare and see how much you like having prying eyes invading the privacy of your own head.”

Obi-Wan gave his sad little smile. “I was just about to suggest that I share my nightmare with you, because it’s about you. I have nothing to hide from you anymore. You can see my fears in my nightmare. Darth Maul appears in it, too, but in waking life I don’t hate him.”

After he had replayed his nightmare for Anakin, Obi-Wan suggested that they both go into the kitchen and share a cup of tea. Anakin spoke first. “Who is the sister in your dream? I thought you only had brothers.”

“I think it was Korkie’s sister. My daughter.” Obi-Wan did not want to give too many details about her, since she was right here in the Temple.

Anakin looked up in shock for a moment until he remembered hearing his master allude to the existence of another child. Somehow it had never occurred to him that it would be a girl. In a way the girl would be Anakin’s sister, too.

“You saw me convert to the Sith Order. That’s what scares you? The hooded man in your dream was the same as the man who lives inside my head, but you dreamed about him because you saw him. He stirred up your fears, didn’t he? And Darth Maul. I thought in real life he was trying to kill Satine, not marry her.”

“And you’re jealous of me because of all the women you think are falling all over themselves to pursue me. It’s not like that, Anakin. The only woman I need like that is Satine. As a knight you have to be able to work with all sorts of beings, of every species and gender. You can’t be parsing all female acquaintances as love interests.”

“It’s not fair. You’re older and more wrinkled than me, no taller at all, and you keep your hair cropped almost like mine, and yet the women notice you. I’ve seen them. Maybe you’re oblivious, but I’m not. Even Padme.”

“Padme—I trust her with sensitive information and I told her myself that Satine is my wife, but you know why I trust her, even though she’s not that much older than you? She doesn’t let her personal feelings get in the way of her duties. I expect the same from you. If you do act based on feelings, like I did marrying Satine, then you have to be prepared to take responsibility for your actions.”

Anakin grumbled for a bit before slurping the last of his tea. Obi-Wan also finished his. “It’s still dark outside. I guess we should go back to bed.” Obi-Wan resolved to find Master Yoda in the morning to tell him about his concerns, possibly even show him the two nightmares, as well as the other visions he had had over the years.


	32. Utapau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan is back to active duty. The success of his mission depends on his staying sober enough to keep Anakin in one piece... Evil scientist Jenna Zan Arbor has a long-held grudge.

The day that Obi-Wan was cleared for active duty, Master Windu himself turned up to the Halls of Healing to witness Master Che’s pronouncement. “You do look much better than you did on that first day. Remember, though, that you’ll probably die if you relapse. Your organs are permanently weakened and even Force-healing won’t repair them enough next time.” Master Che fingered the end of one of her lekku as she spoke, not wanting to share with her favorite patient just how concerned she was.

“A lifetime of vigilance, one day at a time. I’ve got Master Dooku to help keep me on track. It’s supposed to get easier. I certainly don’t want to go through withdrawal again. That in itself is a motivator to stay sober.” Obi-Wan was putting his tunics back on as Master Che shared his test results.

“You better stay sober and alive. We need you for a mission almost right away. Of course Anakin will be going with you.” Master Windu’s face was serious but Obi-Wan knew the man was relieved inside.

“What’s the mission?” They might as well have the off-the-record briefing now. Obi-Wan slid off the examination table and began to pull his boots back on.

“You’re going to Utapau. We got a report—yes, from the Vos-Secura team, thank you—about a research lab set up for experiments on human bodies, particularly the embedding of chips.”

“Like the slave chips embedded into the bodies of slaves in Hutt Space?” Obi-Wan suddenly remembered this detail from Qui-Gon’s initial report about Anakin. The whole notion of embedding not just a tracking device but an explosive into the body of a sentient being, against its will, to prevent its escape from slavery was repugnant. Had the chip inside Anakin ever been removed? Surely it had been deactivated, since he had been able to leave Tatooine alive.

“Yes, that sort of thing. Those chips can be found anywhere inside a slave’s body, but I understand that the experiments are about implanting chips into the brain to make them harder for underground illegal surgeons to remove from runaway slaves. Slavery is illegal in the Republic, of course, so this research is also illegal.” Master Windu glanced at some notes in his datapad.

“What about Anakin’s chip? What happened to it?” Obi-Wan asked. He honestly could not remember. The early days of their partnership, when the issue of Anakin’s slave chip was most likely to be discussed, had been a whirlwind on Obi-Wan’s side with all kinds of red tape relating to accepting Anakin into the Order, taking him on as a padawan, and of course dealing with Qui-Gon’s death.

“It was removed as soon as Skywalker was officially accepted into the Order. That was my first encounter with your padawan, because I performed the surgery myself. He put up quite a resistance to being anesthetized. The chip was in his belly, poor boy. We were just glad it wasn’t in his head.” Master Che herself answered. “I still have the chip.” She rummaged about in her cabinets until she found a small metal device, which she handed to Obi-Wan.

He turned it over in his hands and examined it in the Force, trying to understand its mechanism. It would be good if he could borrow it, but the sight of the thing might be too triggering for Anakin. He decided to ask the boy directly through the training bond, as soon as there was a break in his classes. Anakin was about to complete all of his junior padawan coursework two years early, not just because he was so young when he became a padawan, but because he had spent more of his time on Coruscant not missing classes than most padawans his age. Today was finals day for the last three of the courses he had been enrolled in; he would be a senior padawan as soon as he had officially passed. Of course he would, since his grades were good.

“Anakin. I’m in the Halls of Healing, holding your old slave chip. We have a mission investigating a lab developing new ones. Do you think it would help to bring your old one for reference?”

“Let me think about it later, after my next test. That’s my last one.” To his credit, Anakin did not blast his master with a visceral reaction. Obi-Wan relayed Anakin’s response to Master Che, who took the chip back from Obi-Wan. She realized she could start his investigation right now by sharing the story of Anakin’s surgery.

After his final test of the day, Anakin met them in a Halls of Healing consultation office. He steeled himself to look at the chip that had tied him to Tatooine for most of the first decade of his life. He could not expect his master to ever understand what it was like to grow up a slave, although Obi-Wan’s various experiences as a prisoner, in which he was tortured, and kept as a hostage on some of his adventures gave him the general idea. Anakin had not considered before that his master had been younger than Anakin himself now was when he had been tortured for the first time. Perhaps his master was closer to understanding him than he realized.

Obi-Wan looked up when he saw Anakin enter the room. He extended both arms out from his position standing behind Master Windu’s chair, making it clear that he intended to hug Anakin, no matter how awkward this kind of gesture was for him. Obi-Wan was simply trying to congratulate his padawan on finishing his final test. Anakin accepted the gesture in the spirit in which it was offered. It occurred to him that this embrace might help him face his old slave chip.

“I’m sorry to make you face this thing again. I know you’ve always wanted to free all the slaves. This mission to Utapau might help us do that.” Obi-Wan had missed the closeness of hugging Anakin. When was the last time he had been allowed into his padawan’s personal space like this?

“The Pau’ans themselves welcome Jedi presence, and requested human Jedi because the rogue scientist is human. It seems she was attracted to Utapau by Sugi arms dealers who told her about the rare minerals.” Master Windu continued the briefing.

Obi-Wan winced. “Oh no. Don’t tell me it’s Jenna Zan Arbor again.”

“Exactly. That’s why we’re sending you. The Pau’ans wanted someone who had dealt with her before.” Was Master Windu smirking? Obi-Wan was glad to have shared his experiences involving that woman with Anakin.

“Is it just the two of us?” Obi-Wan was rather hoping for additional knights for backup, perhaps one with some medical knowledge—Bant. Bant would be good, ideally with Asajj and Alema or Quinlan and Aayla, who seemed to have been knighted at some point in the not-so-distant past.

“I’m afraid it’s just you two. Everyone’s busy and Utapau is a desert. You wouldn’t want to do that to Knight Eerin.” Obi-Wan had long since learned to simply let Master Windu read his mind. In the past he would have been delighted to have a solo or near-solo mission because of the opportunities to drink, but this did not even cross his mind now. He had changed a lot in a short time.

“I see. Well, Anakin?” Obi-Wan looked at his padawan, who was thoughtfully examining his old slave chip. The boy had likely worked out its mechanism by now. Touching it might be bringing back memories, the way Obi-Wan’s memory stone did for him. Anakin had an uncharacteristically pensive look on his face.

“Let’s bring it with us. I think I can handle it. If not, you’re going to be there. I appreciate that you asked. When do we leave?” The excitement of the mission took over and Anakin looked fairly happy when he lifted his face up to look at Master Windu for instructions.

“Tonight, if possible. It’s an Outer Rim planet, it’s far from here.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to reserve a different ship from the last one they flew to Tatooine, just in case he still had alcohol hidden on it somewhere. On the other hand, perhaps the cleaning crews had found any remaining bottles and disposed of them. Utoz could be repurposed as cleaning liquid or fuel, so it seemed unlikely that it would be left undisturbed on a ship. And he had consumed truly amazing quantities of it. How stupid he had been!

Anakin seemed a little nervous about the prospect of being alone with his master on a long trip to the Outer Rim, but this time should be different. His master was supposed to stay sober the whole trip. The rest of his life, too, but they would see about that one day at a time.

Obi-Wan collected whatever information he could from the Archives to download into his datapad while Anakin packed. In the past the roles would have been reversed, since this gave Obi-Wan leeway to sneak alcohol into their bags. When they met up at the apartment again, Obi-Wan copied the information into Anakin’s datapad as well. “I think you should be as well-informed as me, since you’re more than likely a senior padawan now. I’m pretty sure you passed your tests.”

“I guess we won’t know until we get back.”

“I can ask Garen or somebody to forward the information if you like.” Obi-Wan was smiling, although it was his mission-ready, on-duty smile that he often wore when he was about to do something incredibly reckless. This was the smile that Satine had found infuriating and then adorable.

“Sounds good. I suspect we’ll need some good news during this one.” Anakin’s smile was his cocky, mischievous one, the one that Padme was beginning to find equal parts frustrating and endearing.

It felt different, almost like the very beginning of their partnership, to have Obi-Wan fully alert and capable of piloting the craft if needed. Anakin could relax in ways that he had not been able to before. Obi-Wan found it relaxing to be able to focus on the mission itself instead of on how he was going to next sneak a drink under Anakin’s nose. Both of them could focus on reading up to prepare.

Obi-Wan looked up from his datapad and at Anakin. He beamed with pride at the sight of this boy, his boy, who had come so far in his studies in a short time. Anakin’s eyes were still greenish, but looked bluer than they had in a while. The thought of fighting slavery in the Outer Rim seemed to give him a bigger purpose that kept him calm. “Ah. We forgot to trim your hair. Oh well.” Obi-Wan was smirking. This was his idea of light-hearted teasing.

“And you forgot to shave, Master.” Anakin could give as well as he got. He was probably a senior padawan now, he could get away with a less respectful attitude, especially since his master had a lot to atone for now that he was sober.

When they finally reached Utapau, the Port Administrator, Tion Medon, came to meet them himself. He looked a bit scary with his sunken eyes with red sockets, pleated skin that made him look vaguely like he was made of wood, and sharp, jagged teeth, but the two Jedi knew better than to react to that. He towered over both of them, but his presence was friendly and calm.

“Welcome, Master Jedi. So you are Knight Kenobi, I understand. You have dealt with her before. Your expertise will be greatly appreciated.”

“Let me introduce my apprentice. This is Padawan Skywalker. He has experience with these slave chips.” Obi-Wan did not say what kind of experience, since it would not matter to the Port Administrator; what was important to him would be the fact of Anakin’s experience. It was high time Anakin benefitted from having those terrible experiences in his past.

Tion Medon nodded in acknowledgement. Anakin was at that awkward age that made him not quite old enough to treat as an adult colleague of his master but too old to dismiss as a child. As long as it was clear that he was a functioning member of the investigation and not a tag-along kid for whom his master had failed to find a babysitter, his presence would not be questioned.

They were shown to their accommodations in a strange-looking building. Anakin had never seen an example of ossic architecture before; the rooms were clearly built out of animal bones. The building opened onto the bottom of a sinkhole, which served as a sort of courtyard. It did not look like a highly-advanced society, but looks were deceptive. Obi-Wan had reminded Anakin of the partially-abandoned underground cities on this planet, made untenable in places from erosion caused by the underground sea. The secret illegal laboratory was likely to be underground.

Obi-Wan was not looking forward to facing Jenna Zan Arbor again, but if he could arrest her this time, she could be questioned by local authorities with himself present, which could provide useful information for the rest of the investigation. He had a strong feeling that this mission tied in somehow to the bigger picture of Trade Federation and Tariff Committee corruption.

First, though, Tion Medon insisted on feeding them dinner, pointing out the long journey and perils of the investigation. It sounded to Anakin that he was going to join them, the way he said he was inviting them to dinner, but it turned out that he was not inviting them to dinner with him in particular. This was just as well, since most Pau’an cuisine was inedible for humans anyway.

Obi-Wan and Anakin took seats in a dining room that was more or less a glorified refectory, where they had been led by a protocol droid. The droid presented Obi-Wan with a touch panel to input their species and dietary needs. He filled in the form in a perfunctory manner: two human males, one adult and one adolescent; hoi-broth allergy for the adult of the diners. There was a field where Obi-Wan could add any other notes. After a moment’s hesitation, he typed, “no alcoholic beverages.” He was still uncomfortable about broadcasting his alcoholism to people he did not know well, but it was more important to remove any potential risks. Anakin did not see what he had typed; Obi-Wan realized after he had finalized his responses and the droid left that he had not thought about putting on a show for Anakin at all.

In just a few minutes, however, a burly Togruta man with a slave collar emerged from the kitchen to confirm that there was to be no alcohol. Anakin looked at the man in surprise, not least because of the slave collar, but the whole tone of the man’s “confirmation” seemed off. He seemed personally affronted that neither of the humans were going to drink alcohol, even though one was legally old enough. There was no reason for a cook to be offended by Obi-Wan’s insistence that he did not drink, but there it was. After several rounds of hearing the man mutter, “But this is against what I was instructed to prepare for!” and Obi-Wan reiterating his statement that he was in fact teetotal, Anakin realized that the slave was terrified. He had orders to ply them, or at least Obi-Wan, with drink. Why else did he look so panicked about his stores of fine Corellian whiskey and brandy and utoz that he had prepared in ridiculous quantities just for Obi-Wan’s consumption? Whose slave was this man, anyway? Tion Medon did not seem like a slaveowner.

“I can assure you, there is no error in my response to the protocol droid. I don’t drink alcohol. Neither does my apprentice, since he is not of age.” Obi-Wan was still arguing. Anakin noticed that there was a flicker of desperation in Obi-Wan’s eyes, as if he were telling the Togruta man that there was really no need to have them take up residence in a sarlaac pit.

“The report I received about you said that you drank truly impressive quantities of utoz. My intelligence sources are reliable!” the slave protested. Very strange indeed. How did he know that the Kenobi-Skywalker team would be sent? Who were his intelligence sources? Who was his owner, and why was he so keen to get Anakin’s master drunk? This was feeling more and more like a trap.

“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. I don’t drink, as I have been telling you. Water would do nicely for both of us, or hot sapir tea if you must. Please, we are both tired and hungry. I would like to see some dinner before the night is through.”

“My master won’t like this,” the cook muttered under his breath as he gave up and retreated to the kitchen. Anakin’s eyes flashed yellow for a moment as he imagined what kind of tortures that slave would be facing. On the other hand, Anakin did not really want his master to humor the slave by drinking, either. If the man’s orders were to get him drunk, that would count as a relapse. Anakin had heard from Master Che herself that his master would probably die if he went back to drinking. Angry as he was at his master, he did not wish for his demise from organ failure.

The rest of their meal was without incident, but both Jedi had a nagging sense that they were not entirely safe even in their accommodations. Perhaps there was a plot to kidnap one or both of them, preferably drunk. Obi-Wan had foiled that; whoever the information source was, he or she had a chillingly accurate read on what his favorite kinds of alcohol had been. Perhaps “favorite” was a misleading term. There were certain drinks that he favored as an entryway, but once he was intoxicated enough anything would do, even speeder cleaner. Flavor was not important. The most important thing for Obi-Wan toward the end of his drinking career was the cost efficiency of his chosen beverage at getting his blood alcohol level high enough for him to function without costing him too many Republic credits.

Their bedroom had a full-length window that opened up into what Anakin had assumed was a courtyard garden similar to the one at the Duchess’ palace on Mandalore. He opened the window and stepped outside into the cool night air, only to find that the courtyard was not a garden at all but merely a sandy sinkhole. Ugh, he hated sand. On the other hand, he wanted some time alone to think about what had happened at dinner. His master had made a convincing spectacle of not drinking, but couldn’t he have simply let the droids bring the drinks and not touch them? Why did he have to make a big song-and-dance production out of this? Anakin fingered his padawan braid, which would soon have a new bead at the end, once the results of his final tests came in and he passed whatever other trials were necessary to become a senior padawan. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not notice a pair of sharp eyes observing him.

When Anakin went back into the room, he found his master sitting up in one of the beds, going over his mission briefing again on his datapad. This was proper, responsible behavior Anakin would expect from any Jedi master—except his own. It was strange to see his master actually functional.

“I think we should get some rest while we can, padawan. I have a bad feeling about this mission.” Obi-Wan looked up briefly at Anakin when he came inside. He smiled at the boy in what he hoped was a casually paternal manner, putting down his datapad and running a hand through his hair, not caring if the short locks stuck straight up afterwards, since he would be asleep soon anyway.

Anakin said nothing but got ready for bed without protest. He was tired, and sleep would be a perfect excuse to avoid talking to his master. This was his first truly dangerous mission with the potential for adventure. He was finally going to have a proper adventure like the ones his master had had when he was a teenager. The attempts to hold him back would finally backfire.

Anakin seemed to be fast asleep. Obi-Wan had his eyes closed and looked like he was asleep, and any non-Jedi would be fooled by his steady breathing, but he was on a dangerous mission, which called for light sleeping. This was a technique he had learned from Qui-Gon when he was younger than Anakin was now. The poor boy had a lot of catching up to do, through no fault of his own.

Obi-Wan sensed that a malicious presence was right outside the window. Had Anakin remembered to lock it after him when he came to bed? Obi-Wan’s memory had improved in the half-year he had been sober, but it was still not quite what it used to be in his padawan days. He was getting older, after all. All he could do was wait and listen. At least he had taken the precaution of keeping his lightsaber on the nightstand next to his bed, toward the fresher.

Sure enough, the being opened the window easily—Anakin had forgotten to lock it after all—and slipped into the room, swiftly sticking a needle into Anakin’s neck and lifting him up out of the bed, carrying him outside. Obi-Wan decided to pretend that he was still fast asleep and follow the kidnapper from a safe distance. If the same party who knew about his alcohol preferences also knew about Anakin’s midichlorian count, there was a good chance that the kidnapping would lead directly to the illegal lab they were to investigate.

As soon as he was certain that there were no more villains waiting to enter the room, Obi-Wan slipped out of bed, clipped his lightsaber and Anakin’s back onto his belt, and slipped out through the window. The sinkhole cum courtyard did not provide much cover, but Obi-Wan had regained full use of the Force after half a year of sobriety, allowing him to Force-cloak his presence. They moved along the edge of the sinkhole in a strange sort of dance until the man carrying Anakin reached a hidden door. As he fumbled with the lock, Obi-Wan realized that the door used an old-fashioned lock and key mechanism that he could easily manipulate with the Force. This was so easy so far that he suspected a trap. He would spring it deliberately.

Sure enough, once he had entered the passageway behind Anakin’s kidnapper, he heard the man talk into a comm device. “Yeah, got him. The one with the braid. You said the Jedi who foiled you before had a braid, so that’s the one I nabbed.”

“You kriffing idiot!” The woman on the other end was yelling so loudly into her comm that Obi-Wan could hear both sides of the conversation.

“Human males all look alike.” The kidnapper tried to shrug but remembered midway through that he still had Anakin slung across his shoulders.

“I gave you color-coded instructions to make it easy! I asked for the ginger, not the blond! I can’t believe this.”

“The ginger didn’t have a braid.” The kidnapper was evidently talking about Obi-Wan. The mastermind of this operation was most definitely Jenna Zan Arbor if she had described him as a padawan with a ginger braid, which would be how she remembered him from their last encounter a decade or so ago. “No matter, kidnap one and the other will follow.” The kidnapper was nonplussed.

They finally reached the entrance to the lab. Obi-Wan realized that he would not be able to simply follow them into the brightly-lit lab without being detected. He also could not wait just outside the door. There was nothing for it but to search for other entrances or helpful features.

“Let’s have a look at what you brought me. The face is different from what I remember, and the hair wasn’t blond or curly before. Same cut, though. How convenient that most of the hair is fairly short, it’ll be easy to shave it off and implant the device into his brain. Ah, an almost-grown juvenile. He won’t be so much trouble to subdue if he wakes up before I’m finished with him. Lay him out on the table and shave the top half of his hair off so that I can operate first thing in the morning.”

The woman clearly did not know or care that she had captured Anakin and not Obi-Wan, her intended target. Perhaps she was unfamiliar with Jedi hairstyles for human males and did not realize that Obi-Wan had had a braid before because he was a padawan then, not because that was a style he ever would have chosen for himself for fashion. Anakin did not look all that much like Obi-Wan unless one were unfamiliar with humans. The scientist should really know better because she was a human herself, but it was always possible that she didn’t really care that this was a different individual if she simply saw him as a practice subject. The woman seemed to intend brain surgery, more than likely to implant a slave chip.

Obi-Wan could feel Anakin starting to stir after a while. The woman noticed it too and began to taunt him. “Wakey wakey Blondie. It’s great to get some human volunteers. You wouldn’t happen to be Mandalorian, would you? My client wants to chip millions of Mandalorian clones. I don’t think your homeworld matters as long as you’re human, but I like to control for all factors.”

The slave chips were to be implanted into the brains of the clone soldiers. Somehow Obi-Wan was not surprised. The original plan was likely to use Obi-Wan himself as a test subject as a sort of revenge. There was no mistaking now that the rogue scientist was Jenna Zan Arbor herself.

Obi-Wan found a vent from which he could peer into the lab. There she was. She was older than before but still beautiful. Anakin had better not be lulled into trusting her by the fact that she was a leggy blonde; at his age, he was as likely to think with the lower half of his body as with the upper.

“Maybe you can tell me. Where’s Ginger? I thought he was coming to compensate me for my losses that he caused last time I encountered him.”

“Ginger?” Anakin asked, feebly. He had never heard anyone call his master that before. It was not surprising that he did not register the nickname in his drugged state. Obi-Wan himself had not been called that for a long time, because most of the people he talked to knew his name.

It was up to Obi-Wan now to save Anakin and catch her red-handed. If she had had any clue who Anakin was, she might not have wasted him on experiments like this. His midichlorian count made him a prime target for unscrupulous scientists like her. Obi-Wan wished that it were him on that table instead. If it had been Korkie or Deltine captured, he would have felt the same way.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and then another. As he centered himself, he became aware of a chamber just next to where he was standing in the vent shaft, a storage unit full of identical devices. He fingered Anakin’s old slave chip, which he had kept in the folds of his inner tunic. Its feeling matched what the devices were giving off, suggesting to him that they were indeed slave chips. If he could get some samples, get Anakin out of there, and get out of the tunnel, he could simply bring the ceiling crashing down with the Force. That might explode the remaining chips so that nobody could retrieve them and implant them in anybody.

The wall of the storage unit was flimsy corrugated metal. He could cut through it with his lightsaber, but would have to be very careful about letting his weapon come into contact with the chips while Anakin was still in danger. He felt along the wall with his mind, looking for a corridor or some other space not blocked by shelving cabinets or crates. Aha, there was the spot. Obi-Wan unclipped his lightsaber, ignited it, and set to work cutting out a hole in the wall that would allow him to enter, or at least see. Sure enough, rows upon rows of cabinets contained paper boxes with chips, each lot containing a hundred. One box would make quite a weapon if exploded. He took a few boxes and embedded them into the folds of his tunic. He would have to be really careful in any firefights. Obi-Wan slipped into the storage room and made his way to the front, toward the door that led out into the lab. He held very still, listening.


	33. Jenna Zan Arbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan drunk was a mess, but Obi-Wan sober is a BAMF, as Anakin finds out. Korkie is lucky to have such a dad! Also, pallies are yummy.

Anakin began to come to. He seemed to be lying on a hard surface, so probably not the bed in their accommodations. This room felt like the Halls of Healing, except with a sinister charge to it, rather than the warm, nurturing feeling of the medical facilities at the Jedi Temple. As much as he shared his master’s dislike of that place, it was still better than this. The room was fairly dark, but he could feel the malignant female presence nearby. Perhaps her quarters were next to this room. His head felt strange against the hard surface that was serving as his bed. Anakin found that his arms were tied down so that he could not feel his head, but had a nagging suspicion that at least part of his hair had been shaved off. He could still feel the weight of his padawan braid against his shoulder, so he had not been shaved entirely bald. Perhaps he had not been shorn after all.

There was another human presence nearby. Anakin focused on it and realized that his master was here and not asleep in his room. He was surprised, frankly, that his master was aware of his plight and evidently in the middle of some scheme to try to save him, since he had come to expect so little of the man. That wasn’t entirely fair, but he had no guarantee that his master was truly not drinking, and not just putting on a big show so as to fool everyone.

Anakin reached out along their training bond. “Master? I can feel you nearby.”

“I’m in the storage unit full of slave chips. It makes it easier to have you alert like this. Are you alone in there? Has she done anything to you yet?”

“I seem to be alone. It’s dark and I’m strapped to an operating table but she said the surgery would be in the morning. I feel her nearby, though. Her quarters must be near.” Anakin was relieved to be able to communicate over their training bond. For years the connection had been intermittent and often murky.

Obi-Wan used the Force to unlock the storage room door from the inside and carefully slipped into the lab, keeping his lightsaber clipped to his belt. It was better to keep the lab dark so as not to attract attention. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness, then cast out with the Force to find his padawan. Aha, there he is.

Obi-Wan approached the operating table and noticed a datapad lying next to it. He set up a data transfer into his own datapad while he set about unstrapping Anakin as quietly as he could. He simply had a feeling that the datapad would contain damning evidence. In this moment, he decided that he would not prioritize keeping Jenna Zan Arbor alive for an arrest; it would be all right if she died. If she escaped again, she would put more innocents in danger.

Once he got Anakin back on his feet, he handed him his lightsaber. He felt rather than saw the boy’s delight at his thoughtfulness. They cast about the room for any more possible evidence. Anakin felt the presence of the woman to be still awake, so they headed back into the storage room, then out into the corridor through the hole that Obi-Wan had made. Obi-Wan grasped Anakin’s hand as he made his way back out toward the entrance of the cave. The boy was rather old to be pulled along by the hand like a youngling, but did not resist. The warmth of the older Jedi’s calloused hand was just the reassurance that Anakin needed. Qui-Gon’s grip had been similarly comforting when Anakin was still a small boy. In this moment all that mattered to Anakin was that his master had come for him, gotten him out of a bad situation, and still had him under his protection. This was what a reliable father did.

They were almost to the entrance of the cave when Obi-Wan felt a pair of eyes on their backs. He took a deep breath and turned to face the woman. She was holding a blaster set to stun, and the Togruta slave and another burly male of a species whose name he could not remember—more than likely Anakin’s kidnapper—stood to either side of her. She had a smirk that hid how angry she really was.

“We meet again, Ginger. Still stealing my experiment subjects from me. The more things change, and all that. So, did you come back into my life in order to compensate me for the losses that you caused?”

“As a matter of fact, I did, from a certain point of view.” Obi-Wan flashed her the smile that he had finally noticed usually made most humanoid women fall all over themselves to do whatever he wanted them to do. It was a mind-trick in and of itself. He stood his ground and allowed her to approach. She was looking him up and down hungrily, appraising any changes since their last meeting perhaps ten years earlier. Her eyes settled on his head.

“You haven’t changed much, Ginger. Just the beard. The hair even is mostly the same. Most considerate of you to keep it short and easy to shave. You and your boy with the blond curls will make good test subjects.”

Obi-Wan realized that he was still squeezing Anakin’s hand tightly. “Neither of us are Mandalorian, unfortunately.”

“Perhaps not. But I could use some human slaves, especially a pair of good-looking males like you. The life of a mercenary scientist gets rather lonely, you know. I’ve got just the collar for you. Not one like his—” here she pointed at the Togruta man— "but one with spikes and a chain to attach you to my bedposts with. Oh yes, that should be loads of fun.”

It did not take Jedi training to read what was on her mind. This was the same thought that most slaves had encountered in their masters at some point or another, and thus familiar as a concept to Anakin, but it was still repugnant. It was disgusting enough that his master had engaged in sexual behavior willingly even with a good woman like Satine; the thought of him being chained and used this way by an evil scientist, who would of course put a slave chip in his brain, was infinitely worse. Anakin remembered the way some of Watto’s associates had looked at his mother as if she were a toy free for them to do with whatever they liked. His eyes flashed yellow in indignation.

Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s anger getting triggered by the thought of slavery, especially with the element of a sexual threat. He loosened his grip on the boy’s hand so that he could squeeze it again in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Anakin was not going to be a pleasure slave for this woman, not if Obi-Wan had any say in the matter. “I noticed that your boxes of slave chips were empty. Perhaps someone has been stealing from you?” He was bluffing, but he could see in the woman’s face that she believed that this might be true. Her staff were not trustworthy, or at least not loyal to her.

Just when she turned to go back and inspect, Obi-Wan channeled the Force to bring the ceiling crashing down on her, pulling Anakin with him outside the cave at the same time. He gripped the boy’s hand tightly as they ran back across the sinkhole toward their quarters, Obi-Wan enhancing their speed with the Force. They would need to outrun a major explosion as the various chemicals in their bottles fell onto the floor of the lab and mixed together, and there was a strong chance that the slave chips would explode as well. Obi-Wan realized that the chips that he had on his person might blow up at the same time. The sooner they could get them out of his tunic the better.

They reached their room and locked the window behind them just as the first of a series of smallish explosions of lab chemicals and equipment began. Obi-Wan pulled the boxes out of his tunic and threw them onto the floor. Anakin’s eyes grew wide as he realized what they had to do. They would have to Force-disable the explosives. Since there were four boxes, each Jedi would have to neutralize two hundred chips each. Obi-Wan pulled out Anakin’s old slave chip as well and gripped it, thinking that this would help somehow. Anakin saw this and wrapped his hand around his master’s over the device, sharing his instinct.

After a tense couple of minutes, Obi-Wan was satisfied that the chips he had stolen were not dangerous, so he closed his eyes and sent his mind-Force to the lab to try and explode the remaining slave chips. Anakin stared at him blankly at first, until he realized what his master was trying to do. With a huge grin on his face, he joined the efforts, and was soon rewarded with a massive explosion that lit up the night sky. Anakin loved big explosions. The red firelight reached up to the surface beyond the top of the sinkhole and the resounding “Boom!” caused the nightstand next to Anakin’s bed to topple over.

Obi-Wan heard shouts and alarms as their Pau’an hosts began to scramble. The explosions continued like fireworks as damage to the lab set off more hazardous materials, until the cave that had housed the lab became an extension of the sinkhole. There would be truly almost nothing left.

It occurred to Obi-Wan that the two slaves working with Jenna Zan Arbor as accomplices may have been killed by the chips in their bodies exploding. This was unfortunate, but he could not imagine any other way. Jenna Zan Arbor herself would be better off dead. Perhaps he could go make sure that she was killed in the blast or at least too injured to escape. That woman was dangerous.

He shifted position to bring his other arm close enough to Anakin to draw him into an embrace. It was not often that Obi-Wan initiated hugs, but when he did, it was usually a sign that he had been genuinely afraid that Anakin would die. Anakin, for his part, was glad to be safe and alive, and the overwhelming relief that his master had come through for him was enough for him to allow himself to melt into Obi-Wan’s arms. It would take some time to forgive the past, but this was the first step towards trusting the man again.

“Let’s go check the damage.” Obi-Wan finally said as they disengaged. He put Anakin’s old slave transmitter down onto the small corner table. It occurred to him that they should probably hide the evidence he had stolen. He knew just the place. Obi-Wan wrapped each box in plastic, then placed them into the toilet tank. Years of hiding bottles might finally be useful.

Anakin gave a sad little laugh when he saw what his master was doing, then gasped in horror when he looked up into the fresher mirror. His hair! Anakin’s hands flew up to his now bald cranium, then began feeling his head for the damage. The silly nerftail was still there at the middle of the back of his head, and everything below eye level was untouched, but the top half of his head was now smooth. He groaned. There was no way he could face Senator Amidala like this.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Obi-Wan looked up at Anakin and registered what was troubling his padawan. “I told you it was time for a trim.”

Anakin wanted to smack his master in the stomach at that comment, especially given the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, but the man had just saved his life. He would have to wear his cloak with the hood pulled up over his head when they went out to check the lab site.

Jenna Zan Arbor was found in the wreckage with two pairs of hands wrapped around her throat and her eyeballs popped out of their sockets. There was no pulse, but that could be deceiving. Obi-Wan pulled a blaster out of its holster on the Togruta man’s waist. The remains of his montrals spattered with blood were all that was left of his head, while the other man was also missing his skull. They had evidently turned on her in death. Obi-Wan loosened the grip of the dead men on the woman’s throat with his boot, kicked off the arms, and aimed the blaster at the woman’s exposed chest. One shot to the heart, another to her throat, and a third to her brain. There was no way she would be alive now. Satisfied that she was dead, Obi-Wan tossed the blaster aside. “So uncivilized.”

Anakin stared at his master in disbelief. He had not felt any anger or desire for revenge rolling off of him. It was the first time he had ever seen his master coolly dispatch someone. The calm composure as he ensured the woman’s death suggested that he could kill someone at close range, in cold blood, if he believed it necessary, and would remain unruffled throughout. This was quietly terrifying. Anakin regarded his master with a new respect. Not even the Hutts were that ruthless.

Obi-Wan leaned down and fished out the woman’s ID information from the pocket of her lab coat. Sure enough, her ID card contained a magnetic chip that would likely open access to sensitive data. Obi-Wan looked through the wreckage, satisfied that there were no working pieces of machinery of any kind, and slipped her ID card into the folds of his tunic before turning to go back to their accommodations. He had a report to file for Master Windu.

“Aren’t you coming, Anakin?”

Anakin ran to catch up, taking care not to let the hood of his cloak fall down. He would have to keep his cloak on all the time in the near future. It wasn’t fair. His master still had his perfect hair, neatly tapered down the back and sides with the inch or so of length on top sticking up every which way but still looking as if he had styled it that way, effortlessly cool. It was, on average, just as short as the padawan cut, and yet infuriatingly flattering, including the ginger color, as if it were designed specifically to taunt Anakin.

The boy pushed these thoughts out of his mind as he followed his master back into their quarters. A quick check of the toilet tank showed that nobody had broken into the rooms. Obi-Wan wrapped the ID card in his handkerchief and slipped it into his pillowcase, turning the pillow over so that the card would be at the bottom. He typed a quick message on his comm to Master Windu, then yawned. It was still the middle of the night, and he was suddenly very sleepy.

Anakin just stared in awe for a while, impressed by the sheer competence on display. This must be the Obi-Wan people remembered so fondly, the one who had gone through a truly staggering number of incredible adventures as a teenager and young man in his early twenties, not the one who was always staggering around drunk. If only Anakin had been trained by this version of his master from the very start, he might even be a knight by now, at just shy of seventeen. Korkie was lucky enough to be descended from this man. On the other hand, Anakin was the one who got to see him in action at this kind of close range all the time from now on.

“If you shave off the rest of your hair around the braid and nerftail, it’ll grow back in properly. Then you won’t need another trim for a while. Count your blessings, Anakin. We survived this, but she did not. Now go to bed.”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin checked again that the window and door were properly locked, then settled back in, this time placing his lightsaber on the nightstand, which he had righted again. They had earned their rest, for sure.

The next morning, Anakin was awakened by the sound of his master’s voice recounting details of their adventure. He propped himself up on one elbow and saw his master talking into his comm. He was not sure at first who was on the other end, but from the rather formal language he guessed that it was Master Windu.

“Understood. I’ll wrap things up with our hosts and we’ll leave as soon as possible. No, there doesn’t seem to be any damage to Anakin, at least, not serious damage. He’s a bit stunned, I think. Ah, he’s just waking up now.”

Obi-Wan ended his conversation with Master Windu and turned his attention to Anakin. He was already dressed and his hair was slightly damp, drying into place in a neat side-part. How long had he been up already? Anakin sat up in bed as his master smiled at him. “The fresher is all yours. Fix up your hair and we’ll get some breakfast before I set up a meeting with Tion Medon. He wanted that woman stopped, and that’s exactly what we did.”

Anakin stared at the mischievous gleam in his master’s blue-green eyes. “I never saw you shoot anyone dead with a blaster before, Master. I didn’t know you even knew how to use one.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “There’s a time and place for everything, Anakin. You’ll find that I have all sorts of experiences and skills. Now, let’s get going.”

Anakin sighed at his reflection in the mirror as he picked up his razor. His master was right about the grow-out. Had he ever experienced something similar? It was hard to imagine, but not impossible. In the shower Anakin remembered his dream. He had seen his master mediating territorial disputes among ghosts who all wanted to haunt the same building. They screamed in terror at each other while Anakin’s master stayed calm the whole time, even though he was the only living person in the group. It was classic Obi-Wan Kenobi but also completely absurd.

This time, Tion Medon joined them for breakfast. Obi-Wan was less than enthused when he saw the greasy fry-up on his plate but smiled politely anyway. He had only developed his habit of eating greasy breakfasts as a hangover remedy, but of course that was irrelevant now. “I’m afraid I expanded the sinkhole last night and gave everyone quite a scare. The rogue scientist is dead, along with her two slave accomplices. I hope this doesn’t create a problem for you.”

“Well, no, not really. Her lab was not supposed to be there, so there’s no loss of our property. She had no right to be here at all, since she was staying on our planet illegally. I trust that her slave chips are gone as well?”

“Yes, I personally blew them all up with help from my apprentice. The explosion made quite an impressive display, I must say.”

“Thank you so much for your assistance, Master Jedi. I shall remember your name in case I have need of Jedi assistance again in the future.”

After breakfast they packed up and got back into their ship. Anakin did not let his hood fall down until Obi-Wan had entered the coordinates of their destination into the navicomputer and made the jump into hyperspace. He no longer worried about letting his master handle machinery or starships; if the man was this competent sober, there was nothing to worry about, unless he drank again.

“Where are we going, Master?”

“Tatooine. We’re to meet Garen there and give him our evidence because he’s on his way back to Corsucant, then we are to go on to Geonosis. I know, we’re going to be in Mos Eisley again.”

Anakin winced at the memory of their last trip to his homeworld, when his master had struck him drunk. That was only half a year ago. His master had definitely changed dramatically.

Obi-Wan put the ship on autopilot and left the cockpit to rejoin his apprentice. Poor Anakin looked ridiculous with that hair, but at least he was safe and uninjured. He patted the boy’s hand, carefully avoiding touching his head, and sat down next to him. Obi-Wan remembered that he had a recovery group meeting in a few minutes. He set up the holoprojector and beamed himself onto his usual seat next to Master Dooku. Anakin would be watching, but privacy was a luxury he did not have.

Obi-Wan recited the Jedi Code with the others and introduced himself as “Obi-Wan, alcoholic,” when it was his turn, repeating the names of each participant aloud in the traditional manner, applauding at the anniversaries, and listening to the shares and readings. This was his first time to participate remotely like this, although he had seen Master Dooku do this a number of times.

Anakin tried not to pry too much as he heard his master’s meeting going on next to him, but he could not help staring at his master, especially during the ritual self-introductions. He had never heard him self-identify out loud as an alcoholic. This sounded like he had said these words aloud any number of times. The words made Anakin feel ashamed, as if he were the one who had had the problem. It was embarrassing to be connected to a self-professed alcoholic who did not have the decency to keep his shameful secret hidden.

Speaking of shame. Anakin’s eyes focused on the way the hair around his master’s ear was tapered down to stubble. How many days would it take for Anakin’s hair to reach that length? It would take longer than the few hours between Utapau and Tatooine, but perhaps in three or four days his hair would look like that. What if Padme wanted to see him right away after his return to Coruscant?

Obi-Wan’s meeting finished and he shut off the holoprojector. “And now you know what I do when I go to meetings. There are similar groups for the families of alcoholics, you know. I know of some masters who go to those in order to help deal with having alcoholic padawans, and knights and padawans who are trying to make sense of alcoholic masters. There’s no shame in those. I would be happy to make allowances in your study schedule if you wanted to try them.”

Anakin glared at his master. He was not the one who had a problem. Besides, he did not feel like meeting anyone new in his current state. Why should he have to spend time embarrassing himself when his master was the one who had made a mess of his life, anyway?

Once they landed near Mos Eisley Obi-Wan put up the hood of his cloak as well. He could feel Anakin’s nervousness. He couldn’t blame the boy, but it was not useful to have Anakin panicking. Perhaps this time he would be the one buying pallies for Anakin as a peace offering.

Obi-Wan spotted Garen with his hood down, showing off his dark crewcut, standing among the market stalls that cluttered Kerner Plaza. The ginger knight hardly remembered any of the buildings or streets, but given that he was very drunk last time he was here, that was to be expected. Obi-Wan moved his way closer to Garen, stopping to buy some pallies at a stall very near his friend, drawing his attention in the process. He let his hood fall down when he was sure Garen was watching, then pulled it back up when he had put the fruit into his cloak pocket. His pockets were so much roomier when they did not contain bottles of alcohol.

“Hey Gar, I got some fruit for you.” Obi-Wan kept his voice down as he transferred the slave chips and Jenna Zan Arbor’s ID card from his pocket to his friend’s.

“Thanks Obi. You’re a pal.” Garen checked his pockets to make sure the transfer was successful, then gave his friend a wink before pulling his hood back up. He also winked at Anakin, who was trying not to be noticed by any of his own childhood friends. He had spotted Kitster haggling with a merchant.

“Can you check the results of the final tests when you get home and report to me?” Obi-Wan whispered cryptically, carefully wording the request so that it sounded like it might be a reminder to check equipment on a moisture farm, but adding a Force-suggestion of Anakin’s name. This should be enough for Garen to understand what he was being asked to do.

“Sure thing, Obi. I’ll let you know.” Garen addressed Obi-Wan but was looking at Anakin. He had indeed understood what he was being asked to do.

The transfer completed, the individual knight slipped away toward Inner Curved Street, while the knight and padawan pair returned to their ship the way they had come, straight down Outer Kerner Way, Anakin in the lead. To his relief no Jawas had stolen their ship in the half hour or so they had been at the market.

Once they were safely inside the ship and in hyperspace on their way to Geonosis, Obi-Wan fished the pallies out of his pockets. Anakin glared at the reminder of the last time they had bought fruit on Tatooine, but Obi-Wan just smiled sheepishly. “I ruined your favorite fruit for you, didn’t I? Last time I didn’t even get to eat any of them. I’d like to try one this time. How do you eat these?”

“Wipe them off with your sleeve and just bite right into them. That’s what we do. The sand gets everywhere so watch out for it.” Anakin’s voice was flat and emotionless as he gave instructions.

Obi-Wan did exactly as he was told and bit into the pallie. The sweet but refreshingly watery juice burst into his mouth from the first bite. Anakin saw the look of pleasure in his master’s eyes. He reacted to the little things more enthusiastically these days, whether it was his blossoming love affair with food, delight at bird song or even just a hot shower or cup of tea, as if he were a tiny crecheling experiencing these things for the first time.

“This is great. No wonder you liked them. Are you sure you don’t want one? I bought plenty.” Obi-Wan’s tongue explored the smooth, waxy surface of the fruit as he took another bite, then his teeth released the juice from the spongy flesh of the fruit as he bit down on it with a satisfying crunch. Korkie would love these, as would Satine. He knew that little Deltine already loved fruit of any kind.

Anakin continued to glower as he took a pallie off the counter, rubbed it vigorously against his tunic, and chomped down on it aggressively. Eating pallies was a good way to get out frustration. How dare his master act like everything was all right now, usurping one of the few pleasures of Tatooine in the process.

Obi-Wan found himself bingeing on the pallies. He had quite an appetite now and had gained some weight back. Fruit was healthy. He could tell that this sweet, juicy fruit was packed with nutrients vital for surviving on a desert planet. He thought of the other desert planet they had left that morning as he supplemented the pallies with a ration bar labeled “lunch.” No wonder he was hungry. He felt rather sleepy, too, because he had not had much sleep last night. Perhaps he would have nightmares of Jenna Zan Arbor for a while. He did not regret her death or feel guilty about having shot her body three times just to make sure.

Speaking of which, he should really file his mission report for Utapau. He wiped his hands and set to work on writing, drinking kaf to stay awake. Anakin could smell that it was just ordinary kaf with no brandy in it.

“Anakin, please look over the mission report to see if I’ve missed anything important.” Obi-Wan worded it as a request but they both knew it was really a command.

Anakin got up to get closer to his master, taking a whiff at the same time. There was no hint of any alcohol. Anakin took a sip of his master’s kaf, seemingly by mistake, just to double check. It was clean. There was nothing wrong with the report either, with no reference made to anything embarrassing to Anakin. He knew that his vanity was silly, but he was still grateful. Anakin gave his master a tentative smile. “I think this is OK. Wizard, even.”

Obi-Wan laughed and squeezed Anakin’s shoulder. “Good, I’ll send it to Master Windu then. I’ll also try to encrypt the data I copied and send that in, but you’re much better at that than I am.”

“All right, I’ll do that part.” Anakin had learned to not let his feelings get in the way of this kind of clerical work. Someday soon he would be tested in the field. This request was different, in the sense that his master was assigning it both because it would help the mission and as a learning opportunity and not because of being too impaired to do it himself.

“That wraps up the Utapau portion of the mission. Perhaps we should review our data about Geonosis.” Obi-Wan received his datapad back from Anakin, who had completed the transmission. He smiled in his masterly way that irritated Anakin, possibly even enjoying his padawan’s displeasure.


	34. Geonosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin's droids come in handy. Sometimes being a Jedi includes rather sordid missions.

They were both studying their datapads when Obi-Wan’s comm started to beep. “Kenobi.”

“I got your report and I got word from Knight Muln about your handover meeting on Tatooine. He’s on his way back here. I’ve sent on the reams of data for analysis. This is some very bad business going on. Slave chips embedded in clone brains is enough to make anyone shudder. You be careful on Geonosis. This is just an intelligence-gathering mission. You are to confirm whether that man Fett succeeded or not in getting a droid army made, then go to Kamino to inspect the clones. This is an official mission. May the Force be with you.”

* * *

Darth Sidious sat in a hidden chamber off of the Supreme Chancellor’s office, waiting for a report from Jenna Zan Arbor. If she proved herself in developing and implanting modified slave chips into Kenobi and Skywalker, along with all of those clones, he might consider full investiture as a Sith lord for her. Skywalker had come with a slave chip originally, but Jedi do-gooders had removed it, making things harder. Darth Sidious had been delighted at the idea of putting new slave chips right into the brains of Kenobi and Skywalker, wondering why he had not thought of this himself. The programming that would cause any chipped slave to begin slaughtering Jedi when he sent out a secret order, No. 66, was particularly genius.

He would need to come up with a good Sith name for this beautifully evil blonde. Her slave accomplices were expendable. All they had to do was to get Kenobi and Skywalker drunk enough to kidnap and let Jenna Zan Arbor work her magic. Skywalker might refuse alcohol due to his age, but he would struggle to escape on his own. He had a tortured attachment to his master that would hamper his decision-making, as well. It had been easy enough to implant into the Pau’an authorities’ minds the idea that they needed Kenobi in particular. Jenna Zan Arbor had an exceedingly useful grudge against the man as well.

* * *

It was not far at all to Geonosis from Tatooine, less than a parsec. Obi-Wan was still smoother at landing craft than Anakin, at least sober. “Another happy landing.” Anakin smirked at his master’s customary remark.

“Another desert planet.” Anakin added his own comment. The red sand of Geonosis would go nicely with the yellow sand of Tatooine as the combined sand got everywhere. Perhaps the Council thought that a boy who was from a dustball desert planet in the Outer Rim would be a huge fan of sand. Or maybe this was one of Master Yoda’s strangely sadistic little riddles, meant as an unfunny joke.

They exited the ship, hoods up. Obi-Wan knew that the Geonosians were not to be underestimated, though they looked like overgrown termites. This was not a good place to get complacent in or hang around drunk. Obi-Wan shuddered to think of all the terrible things that were so much more likely to have happened had he been sent here or to Utapau just half a year ago. He thought of Jenna Zan Arbor and her plan to implant a slave chip in his brain; she had come uncomfortably close with poor Anakin. If Obi-Wan had been drunk—he would never forgive himself.

The two Jedi crept closer to where Quinlan Vos’ intelligence had suggested the droid factory would be. Geonosians could be hard to see if they kept very still. Obi-Wan wished his padawan would cling to his cloak the way he did as a youngling. He worried about the boy, probably more than what was appropriate for his age, as if he had to make up for the years of being too drunk to think about Anakin’s safety, with the consistent nagging worry that turned parents old before their time.

Korkie would be horrified at his father’s dangerous missions but Satine would take it all in stride. He did not need to hide the reckless and dangerous, not to mention sometimes stupid, things he regularly did as a Jedi, because she would have done them too. She definitely knew her way around a blaster, and was no stranger to creeping about in hostile territory, so she understood. His mother definitely did not need to know. Keeping that kind of thing hidden from a mother was part of being a loving, considerate son, wasn’t it?

Like right now, the way he was climbing up the tall, thin spire of a rock formation, fully intending to peer into the hole at the top as if it were a chimney. The faint sound of clanking metal down there suggested to him that there was some kind of foundry or factory specializing in machinery. Most ordinary humans would miss the clues but he was a Jedi with Force-enhanced hearing. Evidently Anakin heard it too, since he did not hesitate to follow.

A gust of wind blew off Obi-Wan’s hood, lodging red sand into his hair, making the copper color even more pronounced. It would be simple enough to shake it out once they got back to the ship. He shut his eyes for a moment to keep sand from invading them. No wonder Anakin hated sand so much.

When he reached the top he pulled out a tiny camera droid from the folds of his tunic and let it go inside the shaft of the rock spire. It would hover along the ceiling. Anakin pulled out a little hand-held monitor to see what the droid was observing. That little droid was one of Anakin’s “babies,” funny little things he had designed and built himself. It streamed its footage to the R2 unit of their ship, which in turn saved the data for transmission to a receiver in Anakin’s room back at the Temple, which Anakin had asked Master Dooku to check regularly. Master Windu could watch the footage live if he wanted, perhaps hold an incredibly dull viewing party.

The droid explored the factory from above, hovering around near the ceiling. Apparently the droid factories were all connected, since Obi-Wan was able to send the tiny hover-droid on a grand tour of the place with his remote control. So far there was no evidence of any droid army; the droids in production appeared to be entirely for civilian use. Jango Fett truly had failed.

Satisfied with their intelligence, Anakin put away his monitor and Obi-Wan recalled the hover-droid, which he patted affectionately before shutting it off and tucking it back into the folds of his tunic. _Good job, little one._ Now it was time to climb back down.

Back inside the ship, the two Jedi shook out the sand from their clothes and rubbed their hands over their heads, then opened the door and swept the sand out. Anakin insisted on doing this himself, much to his master’s amusement. The only thing Anakin hated more than cleaning was sand.

Finally satisfied with their relatively sand-free environment, they closed the hatch again and began to examine the footage. This was rather tedious, but the upside of that was that there was no evidence of current nefariousness. Obi-Wan let Anakin write the report this time, while he took a sonic shower to get rid of the last of the sand. How Qui-Gon had so gracefully endured getting half of a Tatooine sandstorm into his long hair was a mystery indeed, since just a little bit of the coarse, irritating stuff getting stuck in his own close-cropped hair drove Obi-Wan crazy. He was almost tempted to shave his beard off as well.

When he came out, he settled into reviewing Anakin’s report while his apprentice took his turn in the fresher. Good, reasonably well-written. Somehow Anakin had managed to become a more than competent report-writer despite Obi-Wan’s haphazard instruction over the years. Obi-Wan replaced a few words, particularly an overabundance of “wizard,” and sent it off.

It was then that Obi-Wan noticed a few messages on his comm, which had been set to silent mode while they were investigating outside. One was from his mother. Darth Maul had indeed been part of Dori-Zan’s wedding party, where Goro-Ban met his current girlfriend. Judging by the group images of the entire Kenobi clan, Darth Maul had made some headway with Fuki-Nan’s widow and her two girls. The whole idea of being related to Darth Maul by marriage was strange, but one thing was for sure. There would be more weddings in the future.

Just as Obi-Wan was shaking his head at Darth Maul’s newfound success with a Kenobi woman, Anakin emerged from the fresher. “Did you submit the report already, Master?”

“Yes, I did. Come see the images from my brother’s wedding.” Obi-Wan handed Anakin his comm. The boy looked through the images with interest, then noticed that the second message was from Garen. He had made it back to the Temple, submitted the physical evidence from Utapau, then promptly checked to see if Anakin’s name was among those junior padawans who had passed their final tests. Since the message ended, “Say congratulations to Anakin for me,” the boy cried, “Yippee!” and threw his arms around his master for the first time in a long time. This display of youthful exuberance made Obi-Wan smile. There had been precious little of this kind of behavior from Anakin over the past few years.

They were still sitting there, happy, when a call came in from Master Windu. “I saw the report on Geonosis, including the fact that you have already streamed footage of the factories for viewing here. I suppose you’re right that there’s no evidence of any special funny business going on there. Your next stop will be Kamino. Before you go, though, a team analyzed the data you sent from Utapau and the chips themselves. Those slave chips included programming for the clones to suddenly kill any Jedi in the area when someone with centralized control inputted in an “Order 66.” That was quite a frightening discovery to make. We’re glad you foiled it, but now you’re going to need to see what the cloners on Kamino have been told, what their intentions are. May the Force be with you. Windu out.”

Anakin stared at his master’s comm in horror long after the call ended. He had come very close to becoming an automaton willing to kill other Jedi, and it was only because his master was sober and alert that he had avoided this fate. If his master had been drunk, both of them would have been fitted with these slave chips. Anakin remembered his promise to his mother that he would free the slaves. He was finally doing exactly that, from a certain point of view.

Obi-Wan got up and inputted the coordinates to Kamino and got them going. They still had potentially dangerous work to do. The Outer Rim was so unpleasant with all of the sordid dealings and bad weather, but at least Kamino was wet and stormy rather than another Sith-forsaken desert planet covered in sand.

He returned from the cockpit to find his padawan still sitting there in shock at what had almost happened. “Hey, Anakin, stop panicking. It’s all right. Don’t dwell on what could have been. That’s one of my bad habits I don’t want you to inherit. On a happier note, I think you deserve another bead at the end of your braid. Sorry it’s going to be bottom-heavy.”

Anakin finally looked up at his master, his eyes mostly blue. “I don’t think I deserve a bead. You had to rescue me. That was more of a trial for you than for me. Besides, I didn’t have to kill anyone.”

“You participated in the investigation and the explosion. You did play a role, padawan. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to find the lab so quickly. Besides, you trusted me to get you out of there. That was a trial for both of us. But I can wait on adding more beads if you want. I still think you deserve one for passing all of your coursework and becoming a senior padawan.”

Anakin smiled tentatively, but the moment was cut short by his master’s comm beeping again. “Kenobi.”

“Sorry to have to contact you again, but I need you to make a detour. Turn back and go to Bakura first, before you go to Kamino. Let me warn you, though. Don’t make it obvious that you’re Jedi. Go ahead, pose as father and son if need be, maybe as gangsters or smugglers or merchants or whatever, just make sure the potential traitor we identified does not manage to kill the whole Ruling Synod. She is a member of the Belden family, a very old and respected family on Bakura, but it seems she wanted to trick the prime minister into marrying her and failed. There’s something about the repulsorlift industry and the namana lobby as well. It’s a sordid business. I’ll send you a mission briefing. Really it’s more of a job for Knight Vos, but I suspect you would have a better chance of success at the, shall we say, negotiations.”

“Thank you, Master Windu. I’ll change course and then I’ll be looking forward to getting the mission briefing.”

Obi-Wan ended the call, then pinched the top of his nose bridge. He had a bad feeling about this. Even this short description reeked of a honey trap operation. He would not even be able to cite his status as a Jedi knight in order to deflect unwanted advances from this potential traitor. This time he would not be using liquor to cope, either. He would have to face the situation sober. It was not hard to imagine the target trying to get him to drink namana liquor, either. Luckily he had never liked namana in general, but the liquor aspect had always changed the equation before. _Force help me. Poor Satine, married to a Jedi knight who was being asked to be the bait in such a thoroughly sordid operation._

Anakin stiffened next to him. He could always tell when his master was unhappy about a mission. As long as he was not unhappy enough to hit the bottle again, they would manage. Anakin suddenly got a feeling that he would be using a blaster, too, this time, possibly making his first kill.

“Where are we going to now? I can go change our programmed destination.”

“Bakura. It’s a honey trap operation of sorts. All the handsome knights in the Order and they have to pick me, Oafy-Wan of all people. And I can’t wriggle out of it with the excuse of being a married man, either.”

Anakin’s stomach also tightened at the notion of his master trying to seduce someone as he got up to go to the cockpit. He had a hard-enough time with the idea that his mother had a newish husband who had found her attractive in that way, without his master also having to use his masculine charms for a mission. He realized that he had no problem with Master Ventress or even Master Muln seeing someone, going beyond kissing, doing what Anakin himself wanted to do with Padme, but his master was different. Greedo had always been creeped out every time his mother had a new ne’er-do-well to share her purse and her bed; there was simply something disgusting about one’s parents getting it on with anyone, including each other. Much as he did not want to admit it, Anakin’s reaction was yet more proof that he saw Obi-Wan as his de-facto father.

When Anakin came back, Obi-Wan had regained his composure. He was even smiling a little. “The bright side, Anakin, is that it’s quite far and will take almost two days to get there. You’ll look more presentable.” _Besides, it would be too stressful for me if you had people of ill repute drooling all over you; better that they look at me that way, I can handle that kind of unpleasantness._ Obi-Wan put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder as the youth sat down. “We’ll be fine.”

They read the mission briefing together to formulate a plan. The prime minister himself had requested Jedi presence, specifically human males. He would be the only one who knew their true identity. They were to pose as a slightly disreputable merchant and his son, with costumes provided. Whichever of the two the target found more alluring was to gather evidence against her while the other monitored the operation as the spy handler, prepared to go in with blasters blazing, if necessary.

“I would rather you be the handler. I’m assuming someone taught you to shoot a blaster. I’m sorry, my memory of the last few years is rather patchy.”

“Kitster’s dad taught us. He was a professional desperado until the family fell into slavery, so he was a wizard shot with a blaster. I haven’t shot one in a long time, though. Not since I’ve been your padawan, I think.”

“Good, I can rely on you.”

“Master? How far are you planning to go with the traitor for the sake of the mission? I don’t like this.”

“As far as is necessary. I will do what I think is right, of course.”

“But, Master, Satine—"

“I know. She won’t be happy with me when I tell her about it, but I know that she _will_ understand. She also believes in always putting duty first. Why don’t I tell her now, see if she has any pointers for seducing emotionally unstable and likely corrupt female politicians.”

Anakin stared in disbelief as he watched his master type out a message to his wife. He couldn’t imagine casually telling Padme about something like this. His master must have been serious when he promised his wife that he would never keep any more secrets from her. That kind of trust Anakin had never experienced with anyone. Even C-3PO, the protocol droid he had built himself. Would Anakin ever be able to trust Padme so completely? Sure, he trusted her, but this was different. Satine must be either a fool or a better Jedi than Master Yoda if she could trust his master like that when Anakin himself could not.

His message sent, Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat, trying not to leak his annoyance at Master Windu into his training bond with Anakin. Images of Devaron kept flashing back into his mind. This was not the first time that Master Windu had casually sent him into a situation ripe for sexual harassment and temptation to drink knowing full well what Obi-Wan would be facing. Perhaps there was someone on the Council who was particularly fond of his face and found him attractive. Master Windu was there when Vokara Che told him Obi-Wan would die if he relapsed. Either he had excessive faith in him or he didn’t much care whether he lived or died.

“At least it’s not a desert planet. It’s lush and beautiful, like Alderaan or Naboo, even more so.” Obi-Wan began telling Anakin the bright side, trying to convince himself that it would be pleasant. There was little chance they would be enjoying the natural beauty of the place, and Obi-Wan wondered how he was supposed to seduce someone if he could not drink.

By the time they arrived, Anakin felt a little bit better about his appearance, but was more concerned about his master’s mental turmoil, which he could feel ever so slightly, even though his mental shields were up fairly high. There was something else his master was worried about that he was not mentioning. Anakin remembered Devaron too, and though he had been a little boy at that time, he was old enough to know that something was very wrong. He had a feeling that this was going to be similar. His master put a brave face on it, but he had to wonder what the Council was thinking.

An aide to the prime minister whisked them to their accommodations, putting them together in a set of adjoining rooms with a door linking them. Ideal for a scoundrel to tryst while trying not to disturb his teenage son. Obi-Wan noted the bed against the wall to the right and the table and chair straight ahead, toward the window. Nothing fancy, but much nicer than many of the places he had slept in during missions with Qui-Gon. As far as he remembered, Qui-Gon was never asked to seduce anybody.

That evening, both Jedi had to present themselves at a banquet, with Obi-Wan dressed up in the costume laid out on the bed in his room. He felt rather ridiculous in it, with the rich cobalt blue velvet doublet and tight leggings, not to mention the massive golden chains he had to wear around his neck. There was no room to hide a lightsaber at his waist, but he did have billowing sleeves. Anakin had taken a holo of him in this getup before he knew what was happening, and against his protests the boy had sent the image to Satine from Obi-Wan’s comm. His padawan had smirked, “Hey, you said you tell her everything, didn’t you?” Infuriatingly, the boy was right.

Anakin was allowed to keep on a square black hat that looked like a cushion but at least cast a shadow over his face and hid most of his hair. His matching black cape helped obscure his body line as well. All things considered, Obi-Wan was glad he was the one stuck wearing the tight outfit and not Anakin, who was, after all, underage.

Aha, there she was. Obi-Wan could tell that woman was the target because of the way she was gazing longingly at the prime minister. The prime minister was pointedly not looking at her. As each guest was introduced by a herald he or she sat down, starting with the prime minister himself. Obi-Wan noted that seating was assigned. There was a good chance that he would be seated near the target. He had to snicker to himself when he was presented as Lord Naberrie of Naboo with his son. Anakin’s eyes grew wide at the name but a quick nudge from his master along the training bond reminded him to smile with the cocky suaveness of a young lord.

Sure enough, Obi-Wan found himself seated across from the target. He smiled at her, hoping his eyes were twinkling alluringly. She smiled back, politely, and resumed gazing at the prime minister. In general Obi-Wan refrained from prying into the minds and feelings of people who were not Force-sensitive, but he did not have to probe too deeply to see that her attention to the prime minister was not actually motivated by romantic sentiment. For his part, the prime minister was regarding a male Synod member with genuine amorousness.

Obi-Wan scanned the table settings and saw with some relief that he would have a water goblet. Good, he would not have to go thirsty while everyone else drank wine. He saw that his place card identified him as Lord Pangor Naberrie of Naboo. How silly. The target’s first name appeared to be Grendola.

Poor Anakin. Formal dinners were not his strong suite. He was at the same table, but not next to Obi-Wan; there was a very old lady in between, who dripped with jewels, as if the height of style was matching the number of one’s jewels to the number of one’s wrinkles. Anakin would be hard-pressed to make small talk with her, especially since he did not normally make small talk with anyone. On the other hand, it soon turned out that there was no need, as she began regaling him with tales of all of the organs she had had replaced. Apparently organ replacement for the wealthy was a major industry on Bakura. Perhaps Obi-Wan could charm his way into getting a new liver or some new kidneys, although of course Anakin would prefer him to simply stay sober.

Obi-Wan did not protest when the server poured some namana liquor into the tiny cordial glass to the left of his place setting. This was probably for the toast. Anakin was watching him like a hawk. Obi-Wan realized that he had no real desire to drink it. He recited the Jedi Code to himself anyway while the prime minister was making his speech. These parties were never actually much fun as an alcoholic, because there too many impediments to guzzling, and Obi-Wan got a suspicion that they were not much fun for a teetotaler either. Oh well. One does what one must.

During the toast Obi-Wan simply lifted the glass and put it back down again without bringing it anywhere near his lips. Instead, he looked straight at Grendola Belden, smiled, and bit his lower lip. She noticed. Good. “I’m Naberrie.” Obi-Wan grinned mischievously as he introduced himself by Padme’s real surname. “And that’s my oldest son over there. He’s shy, at an awkward age. This is his first banquet at the grownups’ table. I have two younger children as well, who are too young for this.”

Satine had told him that many women liked family-oriented former bad boys who were only half-reformed. Apparently these women liked to imagine themselves finishing the taming process. He hoped he was getting the balance right. Anakin’s eyes were rolling out of their sockets internally. Shockingly, it seemed to work on Grendola Belden, as she gave him a genuine smile. Satine was right that many women immediately trust fathers, especially when they are clearly committed to their children. He also remembered what Quinlan Vos had told him before his first undercover assignment, about keeping some truth to his lies to make them more believable. It was true that he had three children, counting Anakin, which of course he did.

Obi-Wan also remembered to not-so-subtly brag about owning property and trading large volumes of goods semi-legally, suggesting that he had a cozy relationship with the Trade Federation and the Tariff Committee; Satine had told him that this kind of woman was most attracted to a man’s wealth and influence, with looks and personality being lower priorities, although he had to look and sound impressive for bragging rights toward other women. The whole thing was tiresome and dirty.

Anakin watched out of the corner of his eye as his master made a show of being so intoxicated by Grendola Belden’s charms that he forgot to drink any wine. It was rather clever, really. Admitting to being teetotal did not further a bad boy image, while explaining why he no longer drank would send a status-seeking woman running. Anakin discovered that he did not really like the taste of wine or the namana liquor they had toasted with, so that he sipped his drinks very slowly.

Incredibly, Obi-Wan’s strategy of seeming to see and hear only Grendola Belden was efficient at making her feel beautiful and important, so that she automatically developed some affection for the source of those feelings. The famous Kenobi mind-trick. After the last course, while they were waiting for dessert and kaf, Obi-Wan let his hand brush against hers, then smiled as he said he was sorry but not really. She giggled at this and displayed her gaudy rings, which covered all of her knuckles like barnacles. At this rate she would be the one proposing a second, secret dessert. She would not care that he was clearly married or that he had a son watching.

When it was time for dancing Obi-Wan paired up with Grendola Belden and joined another couple to go through the slow, stately figures of a courtly dance. Anakin simply watched, wondering how and when his master had learned all this. He nodded when he felt the prime minister and his paramour come near. “Your father is quite the charmer, isn’t he. Such shapely legs and graceful dancing are highly prized in our culture. You are lucky to have such a fine role model.”

“Thank you sir.” Anakin did not know what else to say. At least the prime minister and his boyfriend were not leering at Anakin himself, and he knew that the seemingly charged comments were actually more in reference to the mission. Even so, the whole thing was bewildering. That fact that his master had gotten his wife to conspire with him on this was difficult for Anakin to understand. Didn’t Satine want other women to keep their hands off of her husband? How could she trust him to use her pointers only for the mission and not for cheating on her? What made his master so irresistible to women?

Every time he entwined his arm in Grendola Belden’s as part of the dance, Obi-Wan tried to suggest that he felt a frisson of excitement from forbidden passion. She seemed to respond to this quite well, as she led him to the balcony off of the massive ballroom cum dining hall and wrapped her arms around him. He could tell that she was more than a little tipsy. She had apparently never noticed that he did not drink at all, but it was just as well that she had had enough for both of them. Her hazel eyes were a bit glazed over and her cheeks flushed, while the wine had intensified the lines on her face. Tendrils of long brown hair fell down from her updo, while the wine flush extended to her décolletage, exposed by her low-cut gown. Jewels adorned her neck.

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.” She cupped his face with one hand as she whispered into his ear. Her other hand climbed up the back of his head and writhed about at the top, mussing up his neatly-parted hair into a bedhead. She smiled at her handiwork and muttered, “Sexy. You should wear it like this all the time. No, on second thought, I want this to be my little secret.”

He gave her a smile that was equal parts bashful and mischievous. “Wouldn’t it be fun to run away together?” Now, for the fatal blow. Satine had told him that greedy social climbers typically responded to this question by going over logistics. This was a chance to get her to reveal her hand.

“Hmm.”


	35. Grendola Belden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan continues his investigation on Bakura. Surprising things about him come in handy.

Anakin sat in bed, waiting, when he heard his master come back to his quarters. Judging by the fact that nobody was talking and Anakin did not feel any other presences, his master was alone. He got out of bed and opened the connecting door to find his master in the middle of the room, lifting off the heavy chains that were part of his finery. He looked tired and a little sad, but Anakin could tell that he was completely sober. That was a relief.

“Dad.” Anakin decided to stay in character.

Obi-Wan looked up at him and gave him a weary but mischievous smile. “Son. Kriff, I feel so dirty, even though I haven’t had to kiss her.”

“Maybe there’s a message from Mom on your comm.” This was the first time that Anakin had ever referred to Satine that way.

Obi-Wan cocked his eyebrow and fired up the device to have a look. Sure enough, there was a short response to the image that Anakin had sent earlier. Satine seemed to find the outfit equal parts sexy and hilarious, more so when it was being worn by her Ben, the least vain man she knew. Obi-Wan sent her a report on the success of her strategies for seducing Grendola Belden. At the very least it was a relief not to have to hide any of this from her.

“And? Did she tell you anything?”

“She thinks I’m in with the Trade Federation in the sense that I would be able to cover for her not paying tariffs on exporting namana privately to Naboo, like what Senator H. M. does for Merisee. I don’t understand why she thought marrying the prime minister and killing the Ruling Synod was necessary for this, unless there was a lot more. You might want to tell Padme about the Naboo aspect.” Obi-Wan winked at his padawan. If the youth was going to form attachments, he might as well learn to create alibies to claim that it was a working relationship. One of the most useful lessons Qui-Gon had ever taught him was how to bend the rules, and he had every intention of passing this information down to Anakin. Anything could be true from a certain point of view, after all.

“Did you learn anything new about the prime minister? I saw you talking to him.”

“Master, you must have eyes at the back of your head! He said he found you attractive, and that he chose your costume well. He also said that he personally owns the biggest repulsorlift coil company here and is head of a trade committee in that industry, with concerns on Mandalore.”

“She wants to control the two biggest industries of this planet. That makes more sense now. I wonder what Satine has heard.”

Obi-Wan sent her a quick message and reminded Anakin that it was getting late. When Anakin returned to his own room, Obi-Wan realized that he could hear his padawan brushing his teeth and changing out of his party clothes. If Grendola Belden trysted with Obi-Wan in his room, Anakin would be able to hear everything. Obi-Wan decided to test this right now.

“Anakin? Can you hear me through the wall? Is your bed right up against the wall on the other side from mine?”

“Yes, I can hear you and even make out the words. My bed must be just on the other side of the wall from yours. Oh no. Master, please don’t tell me you’re thinking of letting her come into your room. Poor Satine.”

“I wouldn’t let it get out of hand. Anakin, it’s for the mission. It’s not personal. I can always tell her my son is in the next room, and if she’s drunk but I’m not it’ll be easier to fake.”

Sure enough, later that night, there was a knock on Obi-Wan’s door. He answered it shirtless, smiling in mock surprise to see Grendola Belden. She seemed even drunker than she was at the banquet. He knew that blank look in her eyes. The women at his recovery meetings had talked extensively about the sexual misadventures they had initiated while in a blackout; for some reason women were more prone to this.

“Well, please come on in dear, I couldn’t sleep either.” He put his arm around her to lead her into his room. Her eyes fixated on his bare chest and soon her hand was on it. She smiled as she stroked the modest covering of hair.

He used the Force to drop his comm onto the floor and roll it into position so that she would trip on it. As she began to fall, he caught her and guided her to the bed. He wanted her to conclude that she was drunker than she had thought.

“Pangor darling.” She muttered in his ear as he leaned over in the bed. “Slave…”

“You want me to be your slave?” She managed to pick a very sensitive word right off the bat.

“Maybe. But slavery needs to be legalized first for the sake of my plantations, then you can be my slave.”

“I thought the slavery laws were Republic-wide.”

“Maybe. But clones are products already. A lovely little secret deal with Mandalore would make me happy. Repulsorlift coils in exchange for slaves. But you can make me happy tonight.”

The whole concept was disgusting but Obi-Wan saw little alternative but to cup her face and stroke her hair. She began to moan and stir, suggesting that she wanted more. He placed his index finger on the tip of her nose and kissed her forehead. He did not want to kiss her on the lips after she had been drinking, especially since he had noticed her brown teeth. She was older and worse-preserved than him. He had endured plenty of this behavior from the Devaronian Foreign Minister but he had been drinking himself then. That had made the odiousness more bearable.

“The prime minister won’t arrange it for me with Nute. Ugly Nute Gun-ray. But I don’t want to talk about him when I’m in your bed, Pangor darling.”

He promised himself to send her a sleep suggestion if she got out of hand. With any luck she would refrain from relieving herself in his bed. He lay down on the bed next to her, propping himself up on one elbow so that she could see him gazing down at her, not her face, but her décolletage. It was easier to fake being attracted to her that way, anyway. In her drunken state she would not know the difference.

“Beautiful creature…” she reached up for his face, letting her hand slide down his cheek. He brought one of his own hands up to meet it and let her trace a gently-curving line down his neck and onto his chest. “So many scars…”

“I have a colorful past.” He smirked. This was true, but not in the way she would imagine. “My son is in the next room, you know. He might tell my wife.”

She made a face, briefly, then smiled. A good family man would be fun to corrupt. “Of course all the best men are taken. You’re gorgeous, but you said you have a wife and three children. The prime minister is stunning, but he turned me down. But I think I’ll have better luck with you.”

“My wife is Mandalorian.” _I’m sorry, Satine. It’s for the mission. You understand._ Obi-Wan sighed internally. _I didn’t beg Master Yoda after Melida/ Daan to let me back into the Order for this. Maybe I would have been better off staying a farmer on Bandomeer. No, if I had done that I would not have met Satine._

“Mandalorian…slaves…beautiful.” She finally drifted off to sleep. At this point Obi-Wan got up out of bed, grabbed his datapad from the table, picked up his comm from off the floor, and slipped into Anakin’s room next door. Anakin was not asleep, of course, because he had been listening. Given how thin the walls were they would have to communicate over their training bond. Anakin had his own comm and datapad at his side.

“Master, I recorded everything and sent the audio message to Satine already. I guessed you wouldn’t mind.” He was smirking.

“Good job, Anakin. I guess we should write up our findings for Master Windu. Grendola Belden seems to think that the Trade Federation has granted Mandalorian status to the clones. She seemed rather confused. At least I didn’t have to kiss her.”

“Was she that bad?”

“She dreams of slavery. I don’t want to kiss someone like that. Someday you’ll understand that there’s more to attraction than what your teenage hormones would have you believe.”

Anakin shook his head, not sure if he was exasperated at Grendola Belden or his master. “Are you going to sleep here? Share a bed like old times?”

“I was hoping you would let me.” Obi-Wan’s eyes had a mischievous twinkle in them. “First let’s write up what we already know.” Obi-Wan also remembered to nudge Master Dooku over their training bond. _I didn’t drink today, and Force willing I won’t drink tomorrow._ He was still in the habit of reporting to Master Dooku twice a day, every day without fail.

Anakin’s comm beeped. He motioned to his master to come closer to peer at the message on the screen. “Hello Anakin. Very interesting conversation. Mandalore has not made any formal announcements or even discussed citizenship for the clones. We certainly don’t own them. Not sure where she got that idea.” If anyone knew what was going on in Mandalorian politics, it would be Satine herself.

A thought occurred to Obi-Wan. Darth Maul’s battle droid army failed to materialize, but it was entirely possible that there would be a war over the clones, since such a large group of battle-trained men would be attractive as a workforce or even as slaves, and their murky legal status made them easy targets for corrupt oligarchies. Bakura was clearly corrupt. The prime minister himself may not mean to be nefarious, but he was hopelessly tangled up with conflicts of interest. Was it possible that Grendola Belden was the lesser evil? No, that woman was pro-slavery. That was much worse than simple cronyism.

As he drifted off to sleep in Anakin’s bed, he draped his arm around the boy the way he used to do when his padawan was a little boy prone to night terrors. If only he could have been there for Korkie as well. At least he could visit Deltine whenever he was on Corsucant. It was up to him to ensure that she would grow up into a world without slavery. Unorthodox as it was, Obi-Wan felt that fatherhood had made him a better Jedi. Oh, the irony.

He smiled in his sleep as he dreamed of flying high above the planet’s surface with Qui-Gon as his guide. Over mountains, green valleys, forests of conifers, misty lakes, all natural features that Qui-Gon loved. There was a vast expanse of yellow namana trees all planted at neat intervals; this was clearly an orchard, likely a plantation. They stood straight and tall, with copious foliage. It was apparently not the season for fruit or flowers. Obi-Wan remembered the story of the baby cratsch that Qui-Gon had begged Master Dooku to let him keep while he was still a young padawan. It was an aggressive predator with sharp claws and teeth, with a mean-looking snout, angry eyes, and long whip-like tail. The creature was completely unsuitable as a pet but that never stopped Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan smiled in understanding. He was to be her pet cratsch that would bite her when the time was right. As he watched, the namana trees suddenly dropped their leaves, revealing that they were actually cannons. He saw Grendola Belden fire a blaster, urging a million copies of Jango Fett into battle.

Obi-Wan took off his sleep trousers and slipped back into his own room before dawn. He wanted Grendola Belden to wake up and find him next to her, wearing only his underwear. If she were planning a military takeover, she would need the clone army. Then she could enslave the entire population to produce namana and repulsorlift coils purely for export, pocketing all profits herself. The prime minister with his contacts on Mandalore was merely a pawn. Since she believed the clones to be Mandalorian, it would make sense that she would want her own contacts on Mandalore; Satine’s pacifist government would not be good for the weapons industry, including repulsorlift coils, so that it would make sense for Grendola Belden to seek out pro-war malcontents on Mandalore. Jango Fett, of course. The prime minister was naïve in his own corruption if he thought getting friendly with Nute Gunray and perhaps Senator Hrod Milew of Merisee would be enough to consolidate his own wealth and power. On the other hand, being from the family that supplied all of the prime ministers in the planet’s entire history might have made him complacent. He probably could not imagine not being in power.

As soon as he could feel Anakin wake up in the next room he transmitted his theories over the training bond. This woman would have to be stopped before Jango Fett came into the picture. Obi-Wan realized that many of the visions and important personal revelations he had had as a knight had involved Qui-Gon. This was not just a dream if Qui-Gon had appeared.

Obi-Wan braced himself for Grendola Belden’s morning-after stupor. He felt her arm hit his bare chest as she rolled over in the bed to face him. She already smelled like curdled yoghurt mixed with vinegar. Obi-Wan realized with a sinking feeling that he had once smelled like this too. She began to stir. _Here we go_.

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled when she recognized Obi-Wan gazing at her. He picked up her hand and put it up by his lips, without actually touching them. On a hunch he began to hum a Mandalorian lullaby to her; the surprised delight that registered on her face encouraged him. Perhaps he was acting out of a shady half-memory of using song to avoid kissing the deathstick-addled Zabrak woman at the Outlander Club.

“Sing the words,” she commanded.

Obi-Wan switched from humming to singing, watching her reaction to see whether she understood the Mando’a words. There was no indication that the lyrics were anything more than pretty sounds to her. This gave him the beginnings of an idea. If she did not understand Mando’a, it could be used as a code language. Anakin would have to learn any key words, but it would not be strange for Lord Pangor Naberrie to use the language with his half-Mandalorian son. The intended meaning could be conveyed to his padawan in Basic over the training bond.

“That’s so pretty. What does it mean?” Her eyes were only half-open now, in what she probably thought was a sexy expression. She just looked hungover and sleepy to Obi-Wan.

“It’s a Mandalorian lullaby. My wife used to sing it to the children when they were small. I absorbed it through sheer exposure. We live on Naboo so the children and I are not such good speakers of Mando’a.”

“You sing like a bird. You must sing for us again later.”

“I was afraid of that.” Obi-Wan laughed coyly. It was not unusual for people to pressure him to sing, but he really did not understand the fuss. On the other hand, being the entertainment himself might make it easier to dodge the alcohol issue in a party setting. Ugh, more parties. What a waste of a country’s wealth, especially when there were artificial food shortages throughout the galaxy.

“I should get back to my own quarters before too many people are up and about. The walk of shame.”

Obi-Wan was only too glad to see her go, but still took the opportunity to follow her at a safe distance. It might be useful to know where in the palace she lived. He hoped he would not have to break into her room, but the nagging pain at the base of his occipital bone told him that there was something very wrong. At more than a half-year sober he could trust this as a Force-warning and not random brain damage.

“Anakin, I’ve got a very bad feeling about her.” Even though Anakin had apparently gone back to bed, the message still reached him over the training bond. Obi-Wan had never been a morning person either but duty came first. At least he had had the presence of mind to throw on the dressing gown provided in his room. It would not do to go traipsing about the palace in his underwear.

Aha, so her chambers are above the kitchens. Kitchen staff would know about any noise she regularly makes. As much as he hated stooping to this level, Obi-Wan peered in through the keyhole. There she was, still dressed in her finery from the night before. He watched as she replayed a holo message from a droid. Wait a minute, Bakurans are not supposed to have droids, they are a controlled commodity. The figure who appeared was an old man with his face obscured by the hood of his cloak. Obi-Wan realized that he had seen him before, inside Anakin’s head. Perhaps this was the Sith master. He could not make out all of the words but he did hear “explosives,” “Ruling Synod,” “recommended Mandalorian bounty hunter.” She was evidently getting instructions from the man.

The message finished and Grendola Belden set about changing out of her clothes, still humming his Mandalorian lullaby. Her defilement of the songs he had learned from Satine turned his stomach but at least he was getting somewhere with his investigation. He transmitted what he heard to Anakin over the training bond and moved away from her door.

Breakfast was cooking already judging by the smell wafting up from the kitchen. He could smell the greasy fry-ups that Grendola Belden and the other revelers would choose, but there would probably be fruit and yoghurt and other healthy options as well. Obi-Wan’s preferred breakfast had changed.

As he found himself going downstairs to the kitchen he paused. He got that familiar feeling of a recovery meeting about to start. Obi-Wan smiled and picked up his pace, intending to join in. There, that’s the room. He found a haphazard collection of chairs set up in a large walk-in pantry and a cook preparing for a meeting.

“May I join you? I’m visiting from Naboo, where my home group is.” He almost gave the truth but thought better of it. Servants loved gossip and he could not afford to be found out as a Jedi. He was already helping the other man to set up the chairs in the venue by this time.

“By the looks of it you’ve had commitments before. Let’s hope this is your last attempt. How long have you got this time, pal?”

“I had half a year around thirty days ago.”

The other man gave him a funny look and Obi-Wan realized that he was still wearing only a dressing gown over his underwear. He must look like he had been partying last night. On the other hand, there were few visual clues to suggest that he was supposed to be a rich and powerful guest or that he was really a Jedi.

“You want to go get dressed first? The meeting starts in ten minutes, though.”

“I don’t think there’s time. I’ll keep my dressing gown closed.”

The silhouette was not so different from his customary Jedi robes, which was perhaps why he was so comfortable like this; it was easy to forget about his state of deshabille. When the meeting started he noticed that the servants did not begin with the Jedi Code but jumped right into shares and readings. Obi-Wan remembered to introduce himself as “Pangor, alcoholic.” A wave of recognition went through some of the staff in attendance, as they realized that he was a visiting dignitary of sorts. This was good, as the staff could help him to discretely avoid alcohol at any further parties. A sense of camaraderie with staff who see and hear a lot would be useful for gathering intelligence.

After the meeting he lingered over the samovar, finishing off the tea, before he was going to help clean it. Two palace guards were discussing security, paying him no mind. Just as rich and important people often behaved as if servants did not exist, servants often ignored nearly-naked guests, probably out of a sense of courtesy, to respect his privacy. He really needed to get back to his room and get dressed.

“A strange order it is, too. I never heard of setting up explosives at each of the emergency exits of the Ruling Synod chamber as a security measure.”

“Sonny, I’ve been in this business a long time, and I’ve never heard of that either. Mighty strange it is. Did you hear who ordered it?”

“T’was Herself. Lady Belden. Said she was afraid for the prime minister. If you ask me, she’s rather muddled in her head.”

“She could use a meeting, to be sure. She’d need a desire to quit drinking first, though.”

“When did she say she wanted it done by?”

“Tomorrow at noon. Synod meets tomorrow afternoon.”

Obi-Wan had finished cleaning out the samovar by now and had no other excuses to stay, so he crept back to his room. A quick shower later, he found himself going through the provided clothes in the closet. More tight doublets and leggings that left little to the imagination, some of the doublets with slashed sleeves. This was more skin than Obi-Wan had shown in public for a long time, at least, outside of his own home or a medical or swimming context at the Jedi Temple, but wearing these outfits he would be ostensibly fully-clothed. Anakin was up by now as well, and wearing a considerably more modest outfit. The mid-thigh length cape helped cover his frame and thighs, while the hat helped hide his face.

The supposed father and son pair went to breakfast together, where Obi-Wan recognized some of the serving staff. He nodded politely at them, but did not expect a response. In the meeting, he was simply Pangor the alcoholic, but now in the breakfast hall he was rich and important Lord Naberrie.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, there was no sign of Grendola Belden at breakfast. She would probably turn up much later for a fry-up. Obi-Wan did not especially want to deal with her anyway. He had told Anakin over the training bond already about the explosives. Anakin’s job would be to go check it out, since he was the one who was clever with circuits and even explosives.

After breakfast Obi-Wan and Anakin pretended to get lost in the Ruling Synod chamber, with Obi-Wan surreptitiously sketching the place and drawing a floorplan with the emergency exits noted. So far there were no explosives set into place, but it would be good to know where they were going to be.

It was almost lunchtime when Grendola Belden reappeared in the main part of the palace. She went out into the gardens but did not notice Obi-Wan, for she began speaking on her comm to someone. “Yes, there will be someone to pick you up. Oh, you have a child with you? How old is he? If he’s seven I suppose he’s old enough for the children’s table in the dining hall. I’m looking forward to meeting you later. I’m sorry I don’t speak any Mando’a. I do know the melody to a lovely Mandalorian lullaby, though.”

It was not until she had ended the call and walked through all of the passages in the garden, sitting on all of the seating at least once for a minute or so each that she realized that she was not alone in the garden. Obi-Wan stood up from where he had originally planned to meditate and walked toward her, making as if he had only just entered the garden.

“Ah, Pangor darling. I like that pale, sunny yellow on you.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. Luckily for Obi-Wan she decided to refrain from kissing him. That would have been too much. Obi-Wan had a nagging suspicion that she had been talking to Jango Fett.

“I really wish you could meet my Mandalorian business associates. Yellow looks good on them, too. You can’t get very far trying to get rich doing shady deals on Mandalore without knowing a chap by the name of Jango Fett. I think you’d like him.”

Her eyebrows perked up. “Everyone talks about him. I haven’t met him yet, but I will, soon. I’m lucky he speaks Galactic Basic, because if he didn’t, I would need to ask you to help us communicate.”

Obi-Wan smiled. That would be a sight to see. Jango Fett, of course, knew what Obi-Wan looked like, so that he would blow his cover. On the other hand, if he was bringing a small boy with him, perhaps he would be less violent.

“You sit under that tree there, and sing to me.” She pointed to a particularly beautiful yellow namana tree, which was almost the same color as Obi-Wan’s outfit. He settled himself on the grass under the indicated tree, cleared his throat, and began.


	36. Jango Fett, Single Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin has second thoughts about his life as a Jedi. Grendola Belden does not respond well to mind tricks. Jango Fett is terribly confused.

Anakin lurked in the Ruling Synod chamber for much of the afternoon, until he felt two presences that were different than the regular staff. Before he could see the man and the child, he heard them speaking Mando’a. Although Anakin did not actually speak the language himself, he did understand a few words, since he had grown up hearing the language in his master’s lullabies.

“Master, a Mandalorian and his child have arrived.” Anakin communicated over the training bond.

“Probably Jango Fett and his son. What does the man look like?”

Anakin shifted position to get a look at the man without being seen himself. He saw a man with a curly black crewcut and olive skin with a child who looked like a carbon copy of the father. The boy had longer curls that covered most of his ears and reached his eyebrows and collar, but the same coloring.

“He looks a lot like Master Muln with the black crewcut.”

“That’s Jango Fett then. He’s a mercenary turned bounty hunter who tried to kill Satine once. I stopped him then by shooting him in the arm. He better not recognize me, because I’m sure he has a grudge.”

Anakin shook his head. Between his drunken past and his Jedi escapades, his master had a surprising number of people who hated him, given his temperament. Anakin moved around the chamber, staying out of sight, as Jango Fett examined the place, the two of them doing a strange slow dance not unlike the Mon Calamari ballet, _Squid Lake_.

After what felt like an eternity of doing this, father and son retired to their guest quarters and Anakin returned to his own room. The child was innocent, of course. He simply had the misfortune to be born to that man. There was not much evidence the child spoke Galactic Basic, but if he did, Anakin would enjoy talking to him.

Anakin had emerged into the hallway briefly, to stretch his legs before yet another banquet, when he ran into the little boy. “Hello there. Are you here with your dad?” Anakin decided to address the boy.

“Yes. My name is Boba Fett. I’m here with my dad.”

“I’m Rowee. I’m here with my dad, too.”

The boy frowned. “But you’re big.”

Anakin forced himself to laugh. “I’m sixteen and a half. I’m not quite an adult yet. But they let me sit at the grownups’ table last night.”

Boba Fett stretched himself out proudly. “I’m seven. I’m a big boy, too.”

“That you are.” Anakin’s smile was genuine now. He was beginning to like this child. It was truly unfortunate indeed that he had been born to that man.

There was no sign of Jango Fett at dinner, which suggested that he was busy overseeing the placement of the explosives. It was just as well, because Obi-Wan was being made to sing in Mando’a in front of everyone. He was lucky he did not have native speakers listening; as a competent speaker of the language there was nothing wrong with his renditions of the songs, but Mandalorians could get aggressively protective of their language and culture, and being the foreign spouse of a Mandalorian was not always enough to be accepted as a legitimate participant in the culture if one had not actually joined a clan.

He did, however, notice a little boy come in and join Anakin’s table. Jango Fett may be an odious individual but apparently he was also a single dad who had not been able to arrange childcare. At least he didn’t make his son help him set up a terrorist attack. Perhaps he was not such a terrible father after all.

After the dinner show consisting of Obi-Wan’s performance, Anakin followed little Boba to the Ruling Synod chamber, where Jango Fett was just finishing up with the explosives. Anakin stayed hidden, watching. When he was sure that the Fetts were gone, he made the rounds in the darkness, disabling the explosives. The Fetts were not so different from Anakin and his master in many ways. Having met little Boba, Anakin hoped that this mission would not leave him orphaned.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan decided to slip into Grendola Belden’s room. She seemed so busy drinking that she would not notice his absence. If she caught him in her room he would pretend to have been waiting for her, hoping for a romantic interlude. When he got almost to her door he ran into the cook he had met at the recovery meeting. “If you’re making a twelfth step you should have your sponsor with you.”

“I was going to call him up so that he could holoproject himself here. Thanks for checking in.”

“No worries. It’s just that you still have a bit of a risk of relapse. How about your sponsor? How long has he got?”

“Twenty-seven years. He’s also my grandfather. Tends to run in the family, you know. I got it on both sides. I just hope my children don’t end up with it.”

“How many children have you got?”

“Two boys and a girl.”

“Well, good luck to you. They need you.”

“Thanks.”

Now was not the time to discuss the concept of luck as a manifestation of the will of the Force. Obi-Wan slipped into the room and his eyes immediately settled onto a datapad. He fired it up and discovered a set of invoices: the explosives, the services of Jango Fett, and regular payments to Jenna Zan Arbor. He copied this information into his own datapad, then noticed the droid in the corner. He downloaded all of the recorded holomessages and slipped out of the room. Amazingly, there was no sign of Grendola Belden herself.

Obi-Wan returned to the main hall, where he spotted her, pretending to be much drunker than she was really was. The prime minister and several members of the Ruling Synod were watching her, no doubt getting fooled. It took a professional drunk to spot a fake. Some of the waitstaff Obi-Wan recognized from the recovery meeting. He caught the eye of one, who came back out through the kitchen.

“I’m actually here to investigate a bomb plot undercover. I’ve gathered evidence that suggests that the attack on the Ruling Synod is to be at noon tomorrow. I want the servants to be safe. That’s why I’m telling you. If anyone is catering there tomorrow, let them know.”

“Why do you care about us servants?”

“This is a favor from one alcoholic to another. That’s all. Well, good night.”

“Thank you for the warning. Good night.”

Obi-Wan reached his room and was ready for bed before Anakin returned. The youth had plenty of information to share about the explosives, while Obi-Wan showed Anakin the intelligence he had gathered from Grendola Belden’s room. It was when he replayed the message from the hooded man that he saw the caller ID. The name Darth Sidious was unfamiliar but clearly belonged to a Sith.

Grendola Belden did not come into Obi-Wan’s room that night, but he still had trouble sleeping. Why had Jango Fett brought a young child along to a terror attack? Did he plan to use his own son as a sort of hostage? If so, that poor child deserved better. And what of Grendola Belden? Was she a Sith too, or was she merely an associate, like Jenna Zan Arbor? Did she even know the scientist was dead?

In the morning Obi-Wan chose a forest green silk outfit with stiff, voluminous sleeves good for concealing a blaster. The prime minister definitely had an eye for color, because all of the disguises Obi-Wan had worn so far had been very flattering with his hair and eye color. He definitely did not look like a Jedi knight like this. Anakin again insisted on capturing an image of his master in the outfit for Satine.

Obi-Wan managed to find another recovery meeting in the garden shed after breakfast. Some of the participants were the same as the day before; these acknowledged him with a quick nod. One of the designated chair wranglers was absent, so Obi-Wan volunteered to fill in; when some of the other participants who were servants tried to stop him, the cook told them to let Obi-Wan help, because in the context of the meeting, he was not a fancy person but just another drunk trying to stay sober. It was good to be treated the same as everyone else. Obi-Wan was getting tired of posing as a nouveau riche lord, which went against his basic conditioning as a Jedi.

“Um, Pangor, was it? You contact your sponsor often?” A middle-aged woman maybe fifteen years older than Obi-Wan seemed to take a maternal interest in him. He probably did look fairly young, now that he had been sober for a while.

“Yes, twice a day, every day. He saved my life.”

“Don’t let his baby face fool you, Zleema. He’s got three kids already. He told me last night. Besides, I think your daughter deserves a man who’s not a drunk. No offense, Pangor, but still.”

“Echuta! He looks no older than twenty-four!”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m a thirty-two-year-old married dad. And I understand Huttese, too.”

The woman addressed as Zleema turned beet red, so Obi-Wan handed her a cup of tea to make things right. He could tell that several of the participants were wondering what a seemingly nice man like him was doing getting mixed up with shady business involving Herself, as the servants called Grendola Belden among themselves. Any friend of that woman had to be a complete sleemo, especially if he was proficient in both Mando’a and Huttese.

By late morning Grendola Belden had finished her brunch and met up with the Fetts. Obi-Wan knew from Anakin’s additions to his sketches of the Ruling Synod chamber where the controls for the explosives were hidden. He and Anakin would hide nearby. The round chamber had rows of angled seats with passages and nooks hidden among them, providing plenty of hiding places.

There they are. The Synod members took their seats with the prime minister in the middle of the room, then Grendola and the Fetts came in quietly. Obi-Wan was glad that he was in a position to sneak up on her from behind. Anakin was hidden to the left of Jango Fett, his midnight blue outfit helping to camouflage him in the shadows. His hat covered the golden blond hair that could have given his position away.

Grendola snickered as she pressed the button on the controls. Apparently she did not care if she herself escaped unscathed or not. Her snickering quickly turned to swearing when nothing happened no matter how many times she pressed the button. Jango Fett looked concerned, but it was just a job to him. Grendola did not know, of course, that Anakin had disabled the circuits. In her rage, she grabbed little Boba, who happened to be nearby, and held a blaster to his head. She was going to threaten Jango Fett. How rude, Obi-Wan could almost hear Jar-Jar’s voice in his head. The Synod members had still not noticed any kind of kerfuffle.

“You want to release the child.” Anakin came out of the shadows and tried to mind-trick the woman. This was not in the plan, but whatever worked would be all right. Besides, it was wrong to threaten a child. Anakin had already developed a fondness for the little tyke. There was something unguarded yet fiercely forlorn about him that was similar to Anakin himself. A pathetic lifeform.

It was not working. Jango Fett opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it and closed his mouth again. Grendola Belden did not feel Obi-Wan’s presence right behind her. She was hungover, of course, but Obi-Wan had Force-cloaked his presence so that she did not hear or feel him. He pulled a blaster out of his billowing sleeve and held it right behind her, purposely aiming it at her right lung. When it looked like she was going to shoot poor little Boba, Obi-Wan fired. Grendola crumpled to the floor, spewing blood and gasping for air. Obi-Wan knelt down to Boba’s level and whispered into the boy’s ear, “Go! Run to your dad,” in Mando’a. The boy tried to break free of the woman’s grip, but in her struggle she held on to his shoulder even tighter.

Obi-Wan shot her wrist, hoping that this would free the child. Grendola yelped in pain, then let go. Boba ran to his father and hid his face in the Mandalorian man’s blue tunic. Grendola continued to struggle, this time aiming her blaster first at Anakin, then towards the prime minister, who had noticed the shots and come closer to investigate, perhaps hoping to show off some leadership skills. She apparently could not make up her mind.

Obi-Wan saw that he had only a tiny window of opportunity. He turned toward Jango Fett and addressed him in Mando’a. “Go, take your boy and get out of here before you get arrested. If any servant stops you, tell them you’re a friend of Pangor.”

Jango Fett stared in shock for a moment. He was not surprised that Kenobi would speak Mando’a, given his relationship with the Duchess and the fact that he had been speaking it the last time they had encountered each other, but this? “Why? Why do you want me to escape? I’m your enemy, Kenobi.”

“Your boy needs you. My boy needs me. Now, go!”

Jango Fett’s expression softened until it was almost a smile, then he took hold of little Boba’s shoulder and led him away. Grendola still had her blaster aimed at them; both Obi-Wan and Anakin could feel in the Force that she was about to shoot them from behind. Obi-Wan did not like to kill if he did not have to, but the woman was still dangerous with two shots in her already. He and Anakin both shot her in the head at the same time, spattering her brains all over Obi-Wan’s shoes. If he had been wearing his usual Jedi boots he would not have minded, but these were delicate little slippers with a bit of a red heel. This was the kind of shoe Padme might wear, not even Satine, but somehow Obi-Wan managed to not look ridiculous in them. Now they were hopelessly soiled. They were borrowed, too. The strangest thoughts go through one’s head in the moments after one has shot someone dead at close range. Anakin’s eyes had flashed yellow in the moment that they shot her.

By now the prime minister had come closer and the security forces had arrived. Anakin began showing them the explosives, explaining how he had already disabled them the night before. Obi-Wan stood there as the prime minister put a hand on his shoulder and thanked him. The Synod members were staring in confusion and shock, so Obi-Wan tossed aside the blaster and pulled his lightsaber out of his other sleeve in lieu of explanation. A murmur went through the group. “Ah, undercover Jedi.”

Out of the corner of his eye Obi-Wan noticed a staffer he recognized from both recovery meetings. The young man’s eyes were opened wide in surprise to find out Obi-Wan’s true identity. Seeing Anakin also pull out his lightsaber, the man understood that Obi-Wan’s “son” was in fact his padawan. Of course.

The prime minister wanted to hold another banquet in celebration, but Obi-Wan carefully refused, citing his next mission, although he did not give a destination. They still had to go to Kamino. Besides, it would be harder to get out of drinking without drawing attention to himself if he were the guest of honor.

They left as soon as they had changed back into their original Jedi robes, still pumped full of adrenaline, and did not relax until they were in hyperspace on their way to Kamino. Anakin began to look increasingly shell-shocked as he started to understand more fully just what he had done, or rather, been prepared to do, when he fired his blaster at Grendola Belden. It was impossible to say whether it was Anakin or Obi-Wan who had fired the fatal shot, but Anakin held his head in his hands at the thought of his first kill in the line of duty.

Obi-Wan tried to put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder, but the boy brushed it off. His master had killed before, who knew how many times. He was unclean, his hands defiled by blood. Sure, it was guilty blood, but it was still sentient life. Obi-Wan remembered feeling that way when he was a teenage padawan fresh from his first kill, so he left the boy alone as he wrote up the mission report and transmitted the raw data back to the Jedi Temple for Master Windu. Let the Council deal with this.

On the other hand, Jango Fett would be even more confused. He had spent several years believing that Obi-Wan was his enemy, and yet the man had helped him escape after he had set up a terror attack. There was no reason for Obi-Wan to do that, since there was no benefit to himself in keeping Jango Fett alive. The only explanation Jango Fett would find would be a sense of camaraderie as a fellow dad. He would not know that Obi-Wan actually did have other children besides Anakin, but he would recognize the protective impulse of a dad. Obi-Wan smiled to himself at the thought of Jango Fett being at a loss to explain this incident to Darth Sidious, who had clearly recommended him to Grendola Belden. The man was clearly not a Sith, just an unscrupulous bounty hunter in it for the money.

Anakin realized that his master’s eyes had stayed the same blue-green even when he shot that woman, just as they had with Jenna Zan Arbor. Anakin, however, had felt a rush of pleasurable fire. Was this the Dark Side? Jedi were probably not supposed to enjoy killing. When he decided to leave his mother and his whole life on Tatooine behind to follow Qui-Gon, he had not considered that he would grow up to have all of the duties and risks of full-fledged knighthood. Now he had killed. He had been at least partly responsible for the death of Jenna Zan Arbor and her two slaves, but it was different to have directly shot someone at close range and see her blood and brains spatter. It was clear that his master was quite used to killing. This was chilling, given what it implied about Anakin’s future as a knight. He had been so eager to be knighted early but now he was not sure if he even wanted to be a knight. Anakin could make a living as a mechanic; if he left the Order he could publicly marry Padme. He was the same age now as his master had been getting married.

Of course Satine knew that her husband killed people. She probably had herself, despite being a pacifist. Anakin hoped that Padme did not kill people. Would she hate him, now that he had, a woman, no less? Anakin’s mother had raised him not to hit girls, never mind kill them. His master, however, had grown up around female Jedi, so that he had no taboo against fighting women. What did Korkie think?

Anakin watched his master do whatever needed to be done around the ship and in between missions, so placid and cool as if he had not just shot a woman dead. He had almost kissed this woman before he killed her. How could his master be unaffected? Of course he was not unaffected, Anakin realized with a start. His master drank to drown out the screams. Why had he not thought of this before?

“Anakin, I need you to read up on our Kamino mission. I know what you’re going through. I went through the same thing. I was twelve when Bruck Chun died, thirteen fighting my first war.”

“But Master, you didn’t choose this life. You were brought to the Temple before you were even three. I made a decision to join the Jedi Order.”

“Actually, I did too. Did you know that I left the Order twice and came back?”

“I did. But that’s still not the same. You never had a template for another life. I knew what civilian life was.”

“As a slave. I experienced farming on Bandomeer. I didn’t like it but I did know what civilian life was before I became a padawan.” Obi-Wan sighed. It was not really useful to compare.

At that moment Obi-Wan’s comm went off. He had sent Satine the same mission report as he had sent Master Windu, although with more details about Jango Fett. She did not actively hate the man either, although he had tried to kill her. The postscript made Obi-Wan smile: “I enjoyed the holos of you that Anakin sent. What can I say? I’m lucky to have a husband who’s gorgeous both on the inside and outside. Maybe a little too beautiful for his own good. I can’t be there all the time to protect you from bad women, or men for that matter, Ben.”

His comm beeped again, this time with an incoming call from Master Windu. “Looks like you found out the Sith master’s name. Darth Sidious.”

“Yes, I believe we did. He seems to be trying out all these people to find a new apprentice to replace Darth Maul. Somehow I seem to end up killing all the candidates. Anakin also shot a blaster at the traitor this time and now he’s upset about his maybe having killed someone, and the number of people I’ve killed.”

“Oh yes, that’s a rite of passage for a padawan. I remember when you went through that phase. Qui-Gon didn’t know what to do with you and used to gripe to me about it. Then of course, Qui-Gon had been through that himself. I’m sure Master Dooku remembers that. Anyway, your mission on Kamino should be a bit more peaceful. It’s just a fact-finding mission. I want a report on the clones and how they’re doing, as well as anything else the Kaminoans decide to tell you.”

“Yes, sir.”

When the call ended Anakin was still looking down at his hands in his lap. Obi-Wan reached over and ruffled his hair, hoping Anakin would cheer up at the realization that his hair had grown back enough to ruffle at all. It did not work, as the boy remained resolutely morose in the face of his master’s touch.

Obi-Wan drew closer and pulled his padawan into an awkward hug. “I know you’re upset about the kill. That’s normal. You think I enjoy killing people? Of course not. Besides, that wasn’t actually your first kill. Remember the battle of Naboo? You were responsible for quite a few deaths then.”

Anakin finally looked up, his green eyes meeting his master’s blue. “But I didn’t see their faces. This is different.”

“Anakin, it’s not different at all. I want you to remember Grendola Belden every time you have to kill anyone in the future. It’s important that you don’t get desensitized. I don’t like killing people at all. Remembering that they are sentient individuals will help you minimize killing. I shot Grendola Belden so many times because I was trying to wound her to make her unable to shoot any innocents, and only shot to kill when it became clear that she was not going to give up. I’m just as responsible for her death as you are, if not more so. As long as you don’t torture and kill just for the fun of it, since that’s Sith behavior.”

“That’s just it. I did enjoy her death.”

Anakin’s eyes flashed yellow in remembering. Obi-Wan frowned. He realized that Anakin’s eyes had been yellow when they shot the woman. The hooded man inside Anakin’s mind, Darth Sidious, was trying to turn the boy from inside his own head, probably to become a candidate for apprenticeship. Why had he missed this? It was obvious now.

“Darth Sidious is the man I saw in your head, isn’t he? Do you know any more about him from meditating? No, of course you wouldn’t, what am I thinking, you hate meditation.” Obi-Wan shook his head. The Chosen One, the most vulnerable member of the Jedi Order to Sith manipulation, would also be the worst at meditating. Probably Obi-Wan would have to enter the boy’s mind in a joint meditation session to see what was going on in there.

Anakin did not protest as much as usual. They were about to begin when Obi-Wan had an idea. Perhaps he could get Master Dooku to join them. He had never tried to use his two training bonds at the same time before, but he might be able to serve as the hub linking the other two. Obi-Wan gave Master Dooku a nudge over their bond and broached the idea. It was not long before he could feel his grand-master seeking admission into his mind. Obi-Wan lowered the first two sets of his mental shields enough for Master Dooku to see inside, then showed some of his relevant memories. Master Dooku, for his part, joined in lowering his mental shields to let Obi-Wan see. There he was again! Obi-Wan almost gasped out loud when he saw memories featuring the hooded figure of Darth Sidious tempting Master Dooku to drink. He could almost taste the red wine. There was something very familiar about the figure.

Next, Obi-Wan sought to enter Anakin’s mind, bringing Master Dooku with him. He felt Master Dooku nearly gasp at the sight of Darth Sidious, who appeared to be identical to the version in his memory. Why had they never tried this before? Admittedly it would be easier if all three of them were physically together. If they were all at the Jedi Temple, Master Yoda might join them through the remains of his old training bond with Master Dooku.

“Feel better, Anakin?” Master Dooku’s voice echoed in all three minds.

“I guess.” The boy was noncommittal but Obi-Wan could feel that he was calmer. Sometimes it took a grandparent of sorts for these things.

“You could taste that wine, couldn’t you, Obi-Wan? You were good about going to meetings while you were on Bakura, I see. Have you dreamed about drinking yet?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth and closed it again. He had been having very realistic dreams about drinking again, which he did not even want to admit to himself. Awake, he had no desire to drink again, and found the idea distasteful, but he drank in his dreams, generally remembering mid-gulp that he had ostensibly quit and feeling guilty and ashamed, but not being able to stop. There was no pleasure in drinking; it was something he found himself doing automatically.

“Don’t be ashamed. Actually, drinking dreams are a good sign, they mean you’re finally adjusted to sobriety. They also tend to motivate us to continue to work at staying sober one day at a time.”

Obi-Wan sighed in relief. He had been getting worried about the possibility of relapse, which was one reason he had been attending as many meetings as he could and mentally going through his list of defects of character, trying to trust the Force to take them away. He still had some amends to make, but he felt better about Jango Fett. It seemed impossible that he could ever atone for the damage he had doubtless done to Anakin, but he was doing his best now.

“Oh, and Anakin. I think you deserve some more beads in your padawan braid. I hope your master has the kit for that.” Master Dooku was good at reaching Anakin when Obi-Wan could not. This was the grandparent’s advantage, of course.

“Obi-Wan. You might want to shield your communications to and from your wife a little better, even in these joint meditations. I don’t want to feel dirty barging in on a private reverie of yours.”

Master Dooku did not say it, but he had also glimpsed some of Anakin’s feelings for Padme. His whole lineage had a great deal of difficulty with attachments, that was for sure.


	37. Kamino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan wins the popularity contest yet again among the adolescent clones. A triumphant return to Dex's Diner.

When they finally landed on Kamino, Obi-Wan was a little dismayed at the weather. On the other hand, according to his information, it was always rainy and stormy on the surface of this planet, which seemed to be mostly ocean. Anakin was just glad it was not a desert.

They let their hoods down when they entered the blindingly-white building. “Welcome, Master Jedi. I am Taun We.” A tall, white being with a long neck and small bald head welcomed them with a graceful wave of her extremely long arm. She towered over Obi-Wan, and was probably taller even than Qui-Gon. Anakin was now a little bit taller than his master, making Obi-Wan the shortest person in the group, not that he cared. Height was not important, anyway.

“You must have come to inspect the clones. I’m afraid we’re running behind on the modifications we were planning to make. The chips have not arrived from Utapau yet. We can’t seem to get a hold of the researcher in charge of that.”

“That’s quite all right, the order to chip the clones has been rescinded anyway.” Obi-Wan did his best to not let his natural distaste for the whole idea show.

“It will be a few more years before the first batch of clones is ready to harvest. They will start combat training in another half-year.”

“Harvest?” Anakin did not like the sound of this. These clones were sentient human beings, not plants. Harvesting them sounded like killing them, but of course that would be stupid, so Taun We must mean that they would be shipped to whoever had ordered them.

“Shipped out, if you will. The clones age at twice the speed of normal humans. The oldest batch are now seven years old, so equivalent to fourteen-year-old humans. A little younger than your boy, I should think, Master-?”

“Kenobi.” Obi-Wan supplied. It was unclear how familiar she was with Jedi customs, but if she thought that Obi-Wan was literally Anakin’s father, then whoever had ordered the clones had not been a Jedi. Dealing with Quinlan Vos would not have given her an accurate impression, either.

“Ah, Master Kenobi. Would you like to meet some of the clones? They should be out of class by this hour.”

“Yes, yes I would.” At least the poor clones were being given an education. If they were resettled as civilians, they would need a lot of support to lead normal lives otherwise. Obi-Wan realized that by the time the clones reached his current age, they would be biologically sixty-four. What was supposed to happen to them at that point? If they were being bred as an army, they probably were not expected to reach old age. This was just as odious a form of slavery as any other. Could they at least find love and start families? He had a sinking feeling that nobody had thought that through either.

“We had initially considered modifying them to be sexless, but the gene donor told us that human males needed testosterone in order to fight. Forgive my blatant curiosity, Master Kenobi, but are you and your boy human as well?”

“Yes, we are.” Where was this line of questioning going?

“I’ve never seen humans with your coloring. Is red or yellow hair rare for your species?”

“No, not especially. We come in a variety of colors.”

“The clones all have black hair.”

Of course they did, they were copies of Jango Fett. Eventually they reached an elevated walkway that allowed Obi-Wan and Anakin to peer at the clones at varying stages of development, from the embryonic phase to boys close to Anakin’s age. It was strange to see so many boys with the same face, although each one was still different somehow. The younger ones looked a lot like Boba. These were children, engineered to be soldiers. Their uniforms all had numbers on them; the clones probably did not even have names, at least, not officially.

Obi-Wan and Anakin were led to a small reception room, where Taun We left them for a moment. She returned a few minutes later with a gaggle of young clones, who stared at the two Jedi in awe. “Jedi! They’re real Jedi!” a whisper traveled from clone to clone. Obi-Wan smiled at them, hoping they would try to interact directly with them, but instead he was witness to the clones murmuring among themselves about how they had never seen humans who did not look just like them, especially in terms of coloring. One of the clones said to another, a little too loudly, “They have the same haircut as the Donor! At least, the smaller redheaded one does.” This was true, from a certain point of view. Obi-Wan had never considered this before.

“Maybe it’s mandatory for grownups.” Some of the clones nodded sagely. Where did they get their ideas? Even Anakin thought that was funny, because he started to snicker. These clones were not well-informed at all.

“No, it’s not mandatory. I wear this style because it suits my needs. How about you boys, do you get to make your own individual choices about things, like food or other things?” Obi-Wan wanted to know more about the daily lives of these boys who were even younger than Anakin and Korkie. Pathetic lifeforms all. Qui-Gon would probably have tried to adopt them, however many millions of them there were.

“We don’t have any personal freedom. Aside from the right to invent and use nicknames.” One of the clones answered. He seemed more on the ball than some of the others, suggesting that he was one of the boys being groomed to be a commander. It must be strange to be surrounded by millions of brothers, and even weirder to be commanding them.

“How come you and your clone are different colors?” another of the clones asked. It was a reasonable question.

“He’s not my clone. We’re not blood relations at all, in fact.”

“How can you be family without having the same genes?” the same clone frowned. Given that little Boba was clearly a clone of Jango, and the emphasis placed on blood in Mandalorian culture, this was a reasonable question for the clone to have.

“There’s more to family than blood. Anakin here is my padawan. You know we’re Jedi, right? Do you know what a padawan is?” Obi-Wan could not help going into teacher mode. It came naturally to him.

A murmur of understanding swept through the small crowd of clones. One of them came closer to Obi-Wan to examine his face. “I’ve never seen eyes that color before. And your face is not like any of the human faces I’ve seen. The Donor doesn’t have a beard. He does have stubble, though, if he doesn’t shave every day.”

The clones began to murmur among themselves again, clearly debating something, until the first clone that had spoken finally came forward to render the verdict. “We have decided that we like your face.”

Obi-Wan almost laughed out loud. A lot of people seemed to like his looks, but this was the first time anyone had held formal deliberations about it. Anakin was scowling. He hated when people, especially women, fawned over Obi-Wan and praised his looks. It was so much worse when the approval was coming from a gaggle of adolescent clones, especially copies of Jango Fett.

“That’s enough—” Taun We tried to wrap up the visitation, but the boys had crowded around Obi-Wan and Anakin and were not paying any attention to her.

“What is your name? Why is your hair red? What planet are you from? Do you have a lightsaber?” The clones, having decided that they liked Obi-Wan’s face, now bombarded him with questions. Obi-Wan did his best to answer, all the while looking at poor Anakin, who did not appreciate being left in the lurch.

Taun We eventually succeeded in rounding up the boys and sending them back to their usual quarters for this time of day. Anakin was still sulking when Obi-Wan convinced her to give a detailed overview of the whole project. She had never met the Jedi Master Syfo-Dias, or even heard his voice. All communication had been written. She was under the impression that this was the master of the entire Jedi order until she met Quinlan Vos, and that Master Syfo-Dias was a Neimoidian. Obi-Wan knew that there were no Neimoidian Jedi masters with that name, and that the real Master Syfo-Dias was already dead when he was supposed to have ordered the clone army. Something was very wrong, but it was easy to see that the name of the late Jedi master was being used as a front for the Trade Federation.

“Has there been any discussion about citizenship for these clones?” Obi-Wan asked.

Taun We blinked. “Citizenship? But they are products.”

“They are also sentient humans, just the same as myself. I understand that the Donor, as they call him, was a Mandalorian.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“If they are not slaves then they must be citizens of somewhere.” Obi-Wan pressed.

“That was not in the specifications or the contract.”

“How about delivery? Where were you going to deliver them to?”

“We were told to deposit them on Merisee, care of Senator Milew. He has graciously offered to feed and billet the clone army.”

Obi-Wan pinched the top of his nose bridge. This was worse than he thought, but not terribly surprising. “Did anyone explain the purpose of growing a clone army in the first place?”

“Rampant piracy was the reason given. We have a policy against asking too many questions of our paying clients, Master Kenobi, so I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more than that.”

That was the same story he had heard before. Piracy was certainly a problem, but not so bad as to require a whole army of Jango Fetts. This was just Nute Gunray and the Trade Federation getting greedy, but the familiar pain at the base of Obi-Wan’s occipital bone told him that there was more to it than that, more than likely Sith involvement. He rubbed the spot, hoping that Anakin would realize that he was getting a Force-warning. He had told Anakin what the gesture meant, but the boy’s attention span was short and he had been angry when he heard the explanation.

Anakin saw his master rubbing the base of his neck and frowned. He had not had a haircut that day, so why was he rubbing there? Perhaps that was the problem and the regrowth of his nape hairs was bothering him. The clones had made a fuss about his appearance, after all. It was most maddening. But there was something else going on with his master. Anakin probed along the training bond and was surprised to feel the disquiet on his master’s side. That was when he remembered his master explaining his secret language of gestures. This gesture was actually a signal that his master was picking up a Force-warning about something.

“Perhaps you could show me an itemized invoice, with any liability clauses if possible. I want to make sure you are compensated in full, especially when there are changes in plans along the way.” Obi-Wan was not called the Negotiator for nothing. Seeing some of the paperwork would help.

“Why, of course. Thank you very much for your conscientiousness. It is a pleasure to do business with you, Master Kenobi.”

Anakin smiled. His master certainly had a lot of flaws and had done some things Anakin would never entirely forgive him for, but in moments like this he was proud of the man so often assumed to be his father.

“If I may, I would like some copies of the documents so that I can ensure proper payment is made.” Obi-Wan was on a roll now. Taun We was smiling, her large bulbous black eyes brimming with respect. She would always cherish the memory of Master Kenobi, who had been so gracious and charming; although she was aware that she was hardly a reliable arbiter of human beauty, she had to agree with the young clones in liking this man’s intelligent but friendly face.

Once he had copied the information into his datapad, Obi-Wan relaxed subtly in ways that only Anakin would catch. He smiled at Taun We in a way that was respectful and flattering but not flirtatious. This was the smile that human women often misunderstood; Obi-Wan simply made use of this misunderstanding whenever he encountered it, but Taun We was more sophisticated than that, and understood the true intent behind the smile.

Just when Obi-Wan was thinking of excusing himself back to their ship, his eye caught a name listed on a warranty that he had not copied: Darth Sidious. Taun We likely did not know Sith naming conventions and would have no reason to perform detailed background checks on all members of a board of directors of a shadow corporation. It occurred to Obi-Wan that the name Syfo-Dias, while it had indeed belonged to a real Jedi master, had most likely been chosen as a cover for Darth Sidious himself. Since Jango Fett clearly had a working relationship with the shadowy figure, this was not impossible. “Ah, I think I should also like to familiarize myself with the warranty, to forestall any future unpleasantness. I believe in all parties to a business arrangement being fully informed of all of the fine print. It makes for a much nicer experience for all involved, and it would be a shame if there were any misunderstandings between us to mar our mutually beneficial relationship.”

“Why, of course. I’m flattered that you value our association so much that you would trouble yourself with such details.”

Once he had collected the information included in this extra document, Obi-Wan finally did smile and bow, suggesting wordlessly that he was ready to leave the cloning facility. Anakin did his best to copy his master’s body language, since it so obviously worked on Taun We.

“Perhaps you would like to say goodbye to the young clones.”

“Why yes, that would be nice. Perhaps I could take a few holos with them, along with my very young apprentice.” Obi-Wan’s smirk was not lost on Anakin. He was fully aware that Anakin had felt left out in their earlier encounter, and wanted to give all of the adolescents involved a chance to rectify their initial impressions—or lack thereof—of each other. Anakin smirked back.

“Master Kenobi from Stewjon!” the clones crowded around them once more as soon as they were shown into the anteroom where Obi-Wan and Anakin’s cloaks had been hung to dry. Some of the boys even tried to touch Obi-Wan’s hair, trying to see if the reddish color would rub off onto their hands.

“Yes, and this is my padawan, Anakin Skywalker. He’s from Tatooine.” Obi-Wan made a sweeping gesture with his arm to try to get the clones to notice poor Anakin. He realized that one possible explanation for the clones’ fixation on himself was that Jango Fett clearly saw him as an enemy and devoted a good deal of his mind to this hatred, but it was just as likely that the boys were simply fascinated by his copper hair, worn in almost the same cut as Jango Fett’s black curls.

The boys then began to mob Anakin, noticing his short blond hair and padawan braid. “How old are you?” one of the clones asked. They had realized that Anakin was closer to them in age.

“I’m sixteen.”

“Sixteen? You look young for sixteen. We’re seven, and we look almost the same age as you do.”

“That’s because you grow at twice the speed as other humans,” Taun We interjected helpfully. She had been wise enough to focus on the maturation process instead of the inevitable early aging and short lifespans.

“Ah. Then you’d be eight if you were one of us.” A clone wrapped his arms around Anakin, to everyone’s surprise. “I wish you could stay. You and your donor—dad—master—are so interesting!”

“As are you boys. It’s been a pleasure to meet you all. I hope our paths cross again.” Obi-Wan did his best to wrap up the encounter. These clones, though they were bred to be soldiers, were surprisingly affectionate, suggesting to Obi-Wan that they lacked a nurturing human parental figure. As soothing as Taun We’s presence was, she was not really a substitute for a mother or father.

Back on their ship, Obi-Wan pored over the documents he had copied and wrote up his report, with Anakin looking over his shoulder and suggesting additions. Once they had sent their intelligence back to the Temple, Obi-Wan eased their ship through takeoff. As good of a pilot as Anakin was, his takeoff and landing were still rough.

“Where are we going now?” Anakin asked once they reached hyperspace.

“Back to Coruscant, I suppose. Unless Master Windu has another assignment for us. Or unless we can justify a detour somewhere as a little vacation. I’d like to go home, though. I miss Master Dooku and Garen and Bant.”

They got the all clear to return to Coruscant, which was a relief for Obi-Wan. There was a lot of information to process, and as he had told Anakin, he missed the presence of other Jedi. Traveling was hard, and he missed being able to participate in his regular recovery group meetings in person. Obi-Wan realized he was worried about Argorria, in no small part because whatever problems she had would affect young Ahsoka, who was an innocent child. Guilt over the damage he had done to Anakin made Obi-Wan sensitive to the risk to other children from his fellow addicts.

* * *

Master Dooku was looking forward to Obi-Wan’s return. Having his holoprojection on the seat next to him at the meeting was not the same, although it was better than nothing. In many ways, he realized, he was hopelessly over-attached to the redheaded knight, who was just as truly his grandson as his sister-in-law’s blood-related grandchildren on Serenno were hers. Even the fine imported teas merchant and hairdresser asked after Obi-Wan whenever Master Dooku went to them. He had not told them that he was also Obi-Wan’s sponsor as a recovering alcoholic, since that was private, but the affection between them was obviously equivalent in intensity to what non-Jedi blood relatives would have.

At the meeting Master Dooku noticed that Argorria’s customary seat was empty again. Her master, who was probably about the same age as himself, had a sad look in his huge black eyes. This suggested to him that the young knight had not simply transferred to another meeting, but had stopped working on her recovery altogether. “I miss Argorria.” Master Dooku kept his remarks simple.

“Me too. I’ve hardly seen her at all ever since she took her own padawan. I thought it would bring us closer together, and I made it clear that she could come to me for advice any time she needed to, but I suspect she wasn’t ready for a padawan. I feel bad because I encouraged her to take on the girl. I don’t know how Obi-Wan manages, he’s not that much older than Argorria, and yet he’s obviously mature enough to handle a padawan just fine.”

“These things depend on the person. You didn’t get to know my grandpadawan until after he had gotten sober. He was a complete mess when he was still drinking, and I’m afraid he’s done a fair amount of damage to his padawan, just as I did to mine—his master, in fact—when I was still drinking.”

“But Argorria is sober. She shouldn’t be a mess.”

“I don’t think it’s helpful to judge her. I know she liked Obi-Wan. Maybe he can talk some sense into her. He mentioned something about her need to hide her flaws from her padawan. That is a classic mistake that first-time masters make. That was one way that I made poor Qui-Gon miserable. We were only ten years apart. I was knighted young, and I’m afraid my padawan paid the price.”

Argorria’s master buried his head in his green hands. “They say you don’t know how you did bringing up your padawan until you have a grandpadawan. I thought I was doing fine because neither of us developed any inappropriate romantic attachments to each other, like sometimes happens, but it looks like I failed Argorria pretty badly.” Were those tears forming in his huge black eyes? Master Dooku decided not to mention that one of his own padawans, poor Komari, had developed just such an attachment to him, and that this had happened when he had been sober for several years. _Focus on the present, Yan Dooku_ , he told himself as he put a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder, carefully avoiding the sensitive head tentacles. The elderly Nautolan master struggled to pull himself together. Guilt was a powerful emotion, even for Jedi masters with decades of experience and sobriety.

“I know the little girl has known Obi-Wan for years. Sometimes it’s helpful for a young master to have other knights or masters who can help. Obi-Wan will be home soon, I’m sure things will start to look up.”

“I hope so.”

* * *

There was a whole committee at the spaceport to meet Obi-Wan and Anakin on their return. Obi-Wan grinned when he saw that Bant, Garen, Siri, Asajj and Alema, and Master Dooku were all there to meet him, along with a little girl he had not expected to see. “Master Kenobi!” Ahsoka launched herself at Obi-Wan like a rocket, almost knocking him over. “And Skyguy!” Obi-Wan could feel Anakin rolling his eyes behind him. He thought Ahsoka’s nickname for him was stupid, but was finally old enough to have the tact not to say so directly.

“Where’s your master, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan asked, still hugging the preteen Togruta girl. She had definitely grown in their absence.

“She’s at the Archives, I think.”

“You think? You don’t know?” Obi-Wan got a bad feeling about this. He felt Master Dooku’s concern flicker over their bond.

“She told me where she was going, but I’m not good at listening.” Ahsoka sounded so sheepish, which was a complete change from her mood even three minutes ago. There was definitely something wrong between the girl and her master.

Master Dooku grabbed Anakin’s arm and squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve grown too. You’re taller than Obi-Wan now.”

“Thank you for helping us with our missions from here.” Anakin did not go into details, but Master Dooku knew what he meant. The flash of images from Anakin’s mental landscape, particularly that of Senator Amidala in the desert oasis and the tame Krayt dragon, made his meaning clear. Master Dooku realized that this was the first time that he had been able to directly connect to his great-grandpadawan’s mind without having Obi-Wan in the middle.

Once they had settled back into their shared apartment, Anakin mentioned Dex’s Diner. Obi-Wan sucked in his breath, but decided that he should not get in the way of Anakin’s homecoming treat. The boy had been through a lot. First, though, Obi-Wan called Anakin to the living room sofa, indicating the seat next to him. When Anakin came, he saw the familiar box on the low table. His master was going to insist on adding new beads to his braid. “You had some trials of the spirit, like your traumatic reaction to killing Grendola Belden, but you also had a trial of the body, in the sense that Jenna Zan Arbor tried to mutilate you. I think you definitely earned some beads on this mission.” Obi-Wan had already begun to take down Anakin’s braid before his padawan could protest.

When Obi-Wan finished, Anakin had three new beads at the bottom of his braid. There was no room for any more, but if they were going to be on Coruscant for a while this would not matter. Obi-Wan wondered if he were getting old because the idea of staying home was rather appealing, although he knew that Anakin wanted to make up for lost time and have a lot of dangerous adventures. On the other hand, perhaps Anakin would be more willing to pace himself, now that he had seen the reality of exciting and perilous missions.

Obi-Wan and Anakin arrived at Dex’s Diner and joined their group. This time even Master Dooku was there. Obi-Wan was glad to have his sponsor with him as a sober buddy, and all of his friends who had joined them—Bant, Garen, Siri, Asajj and Alema, even little Ahsoka—knew about his vulnerabilities.

What was Ahsoka doing there? Where was her master? Did she know where her padawan was? “Did you tell your master you were coming here?” Obi-Wan tried not to sound too worried.

“I tried to tell her over our bond but the connection was murky. I did tell my grand-master, though. He thought it was all right because there are so many adults in the group, and he said he doesn’t worry about me if I’m with you and Master Dooku. He trusts you guys.”

“As long as someone knows you’re here. Your master will be worried if she can’t find you in the Temple and nobody knows where you went, that’s all.”

“I can look after myself. I do most of the time, anyway.” Anger and hurt flashed in her eyes as she made her snippy comment. Obi-Wan and Master Dooku exchanged glances. This was not a good sign.

When Flo came by to take orders, she already had a cup of Jawa Juice ready for Obi-Wan, so he preemptively ordered fruit juice, the same as what Anakin was having. Flo stared at him for a moment, and even Dex came out to see the amazing spectacle that was Obi-Wan turning down Jawa Juice.

“You don’t want Jawa Juice?” The Besalisk proprietor and robot waitress asked almost in unison.

“No, I don’t. I don’t drink that stuff anymore. Fruit juice is good.”

“All right, then.” Just like that, the issue was resolved. Obi-Wan was almost disappointed at how little fuss there was, how easy it was to get other people used to the idea of him not drinking. Alcoholism and sobriety took up so much of his mental energy, forming a part of his identity, even, that seeing how little mental space other people expended on his drinking habits was almost disconcerting, except that it was a good reminder that he was not the center of the galaxy. That was stinking thinking, as the old-timers at his recovery meetings liked to say. Once everyone got used to it, nobody was watching him anymore. Obi-Wan could finally relax and have a good time, simply enjoying the company of his friends instead of focusing on camouflaging his drinking, like in the past.

As the adults talked about releasing emotions into the Force, Ahsoka spoke up. “I don’t quite get that. I need a mental image to understand releasing into the Force. How do you imagine it, Master Ventress?”

“I imagine throwing my vegetable peelings and other trash down the garbage chute. I don’t need anger or fear long-term. They’re useful in the short term as instinctual responses designed to keep us safe, but we don’t need to keep them.”

“Same here. Like fruit peels or candy wrappers.” Bant and Siri nodded their agreement. Alema merely smiled serenely, content with her master’s explanation.

“Like going to the bathroom.” Anakin supplied, which earned him an immediate smack from young Ahsoka.

“That’s gross, Skyguy!”

He grinned, causing Garen to laugh. Master Dooku still looked rather uncomfortable in the venue, but tried to radiate warmth and welcome. He did not supply a response to the discussion.

“How about you, Master Kenobi?”

“I imagine that I’ve got gum or something horrible stuck to the ends of my hair, and then the barber cuts it off. All the anger, fear, hate, and other Dark Side emotions are best cut out of our psyches, but this doesn’t hurt, not really, so I think of it as being like a haircut. I guess that’s an image you wouldn’t be familiar with, though. Sorry about the human-centric example.”

Ahsoka laughed. “It’s all right. I think I can understand. I bet Skyguy is the one responsible for putting the gum in there, anyway.”

“Hey! That’s not fair, Snips!”

“Why did you just call me that?” There was no indignation, only curiosity on the girl’s face as she asked.

“Because you’re full of snippy comments. If you’re not careful, my master might just snip you right out of our circle of friends.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that.” Obi-Wan patted her hand. The thought occurred to him that if he did not have a padawan already, plus a secret daughter in the creche, he might have taken Ahsoka as his padawan. He resolved to watch over her, at any rate.

It was so good to be back, surrounded by friends.


	38. Garen Goes Undercover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garen will do just about anything for Obi-Wan. Argorria decides that her twelve-step program is too much trouble but does not replace it with any other approach to recovery. She is what is known as a "dry drunk."

“Hold your arms up a little higher, Ahsoka. Yes, like that.” Obi-Wan found himself coaching both Anakin and Ahsoka in the dojo.

“Hey, I see it’s payback time.” Asajj Ventress came into the dojo with Alema. She smirked at Obi-Wan, remembering all the times she had worked with Anakin while Obi-Wan was indisposed.

“Apparently so. How is Alema’s dabbling in Soresu going?”

“That’s something she wants to work with you on. How do you know Ashoka’s master, anyway? I don’t think I’ve even met her.”

“My recovery group meeting. I haven’t seen her there for a long time, though.”

“Hmm, most worrisome. I won’t disrupt your lesson any more. Carry on.”

Really Argorria should be the one here with Ahsoka. It was instructive for padawans to interact as master-padawan pairs, but two padawans working with the same master could be a decent learning opportunity. The trouble was when this was the only opportunity, of course.

“Ahsoka, if you’re going to wield two lightsabers, you need to be mindful of both at the same time.” Obi-Wan wondered why he was the one trying to teach the girl Jar’Kai. Do or do not, there is no try.

After a few rounds with her padawan, Asajj Ventress came back to observe Obi-Wan. He looked uncomfortable teaching a form he did not normally use himself. “You want to learn Jar’Kai? I can help.” Asajj Ventress approached the young girl. Obi-Wan smiled in relief. He would be much happier working with Anakin and Alema on their Soresu and Ataru, anyway.

Alema had made some progress in Soresu. Obi-Wan beamed with pride. Anakin did not seem to care much for the style, but it was important for him to strengthen his defenses. He had seen the holofootage of Qui-Gon’s fatal fight with Darth Maul and knew that pure Ataru had its weaknesses. So did Makashi, of course.

Toward the end of their session Argorria finally turned up. Obi-Wan saw her furrowed brow, but so far she did not smell of alcohol. As soon as she saw Ahsoka training with Asajj Ventress, she clicked her tongue in displeasure. “My padawan is intruding on other masters again. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s quite all right. This is normal, you know. It’s good for a padawan to practice with a variety of masters and experiment with different styles. You never know which moves you’ll need in actual battle, so it’s wise to dabble across the board.”

“I suppose so, but she needs to show gratitude.”

“She does show gratitude. Both Asajj and I have senior padawans, so it’s good to have a younger padawan thrown into the mix to remind everyone of basics and to show our senior padawans how to instruct someone else, since they’ll be knights with their own learners before we know it. Have you met Asajj Ventress? She’s an old friend of mine, and just happens to be good at Jar’Kai.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure. I miss adults.”

“Really? I really like little Ahsoka. She’s not a burden at all. Besides, meetings are full of adults.”

Argorria made a face. Meetings. “Meetings take up too much time. I can’t see having to keep going to those for the rest of my life. I’m ready to move on. It’s just not helpful anymore. Besides, I don’t want Ahsoka to think her master is pathetic. She’s at a difficult age anyway, she doesn’t need an extra burden like that.”

“I think padawans learn more from watching their imperfect masters struggle and work hard to overcome their difficulties than they do from thinking their masters never have any problems. I should hope that Anakin has learned something from seeing my active addiction, being there during my rock bottom, and watching me work on my sobriety now. I shared all of my memories with him as well. There are no more secrets between us.”

Argorria shuddered at the thought. “But your padawan is older and can handle it. Ahsoka is still a child. She would be disturbed to find out the truth about me.” Although she did not say it out loud, Obi-Wan could almost hear the mental self-accusation of being a pathetic lifeform.

“She knows I’m in recovery and doesn’t seem to think any less of me. Maybe because I’m not her master, but she might surprise you if you give her a chance. If you’re stressed, I think it would help to talk about it with someone. I’m back on Coruscant for the time being, you can talk to me. Or, of course, you can talk to your master. I would talk to mine if he were still alive, but he isn’t, so I talk to my grand-master, who is also my sponsor. You’re lucky you have a master who’s so likely to understand.”

Argorria frowned and shook her head as if to say, “You don’t understand,” but she did not say anything aloud. The bags under her eyes suggested that she was having trouble sleeping as well.

At this point Master Dooku showed up. He smiled to see his lineage all together. “Argorria! What a pleasant surprise. I’m glad you seem to be well.” He did not mention her master or how much his friend worried about her. She probably knew that much already and did not need the pressure.

When Anakin emerged from the shower in clean robes, Master Dooku put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I wanted to see you. I should have told you why your master and I entered your head on your way back here from your last mission. How about if we talk about it in private?”

Anakin merely nodded. He did not like the invasiveness and hated meditation that did not involve tinkering with his hands, but he knew that the adults in his life thought they were trying to help him. Besides, he did not want Alema or even little Snips to know too much about his inner life that did not reflect well on him.

“That figure of the hooded man—” Master Dooku began.

“Darth Sidious.” Anakin shuddered at the thought, having seen holos of the real person who also maintained a presence in his head.

“Yes. He lived in my head for many years, too. I thought I should show you.” Master Dooku encouraged Anakin to sit on the meditation mat opposite himself in the living room of the Kenobi-Skywalker apartment. Obi-Wan was still out trying to talk sense into Argorria and therefore not home, although Master Dooku would not have minded if Obi-Wan were there.

Anakin seemed to be filled with dread and horror—nay, despair—at the images from Master Dooku’s mind. They were similar to the ones that tormented him. Worse, there were decades’ worth of nightmares and doubts, not to mention memories of questionable deeds Master Dooku himself had done.

“How did you get rid of him?”

“He went away after I got sober. For you, though, you don’t even drink. I’m not sure what to tell you about getting rid of him, except that you’re old enough to understand that both the Light and the Dark are integral parts of the Force, and you can’t have one without the other. As Jedi we skew toward the Light, but we need to understand the Dark in order to fight it. There is no shame in having visions, even dark ones. You have negative emotions about yourself and your master, which is normal. Those can spur you on to work harder and grow more, but only if you let them go in a reasonable manner. Holding on to them and letting them fester is bad.”

Anakin looked down. “I don’t understand why I’m stuck with these problems when it was my master who drank, not me. Alcoholics are so self-oriented.”

“The condition affects the whole family, meaning everyone who lives with your master or who comes into contact with him regularly. I know it doesn’t feel fair, but life is not fair. The sooner you let go of the expectation that life should be fair, the happier you’ll be, Anakin.”

“I’ll never get my innocence back. I was involved in killing, and I learned not to trust anyone, including my master.” He decided not to mention that he still did trust Senator Amidala, although Master Dooku likely knew that anyway.

“We can’t stay innocent forever, Anakin. We’re Jedi. I came very close to turning to the Dark Side. I didn’t, but because I had that experience of losing maybe not innocence per se as trust in myself, I was able to help Asajj when she came to me, having lost her original master. She was close to turning, too. I saw her memories. I don’t blame her for having felt the way she did. She’s certainly not innocent either, but because of that, she can handle anything Alema has to deal with.”

Obi-Wan was still concerned about Argorria when he ran into Garen on his way back to his apartment. “Ah. Gar.”

“You look distracted. What’s worrying you?”

“Ahsoka’s master. She seems to be in a slump.” Obi-Wan finally looked at Garen properly. Swarthy skin, brown eyes, short dark hair, muscular physique that would look good in Mandalorian armor. Hey, why not. Obi-Wan realized that he could not go to the Outlander Club again, not that he wanted to, but the place did have its uses as a source of information.

“This might seem sudden, but would you consider going to the Outlander Club and impersonating Jango Fett? There’s a deathstick-addled blonde Zabrak woman there who was a good source of intelligence. I often had to sing to her so that she wouldn’t make me kiss her; Darth Maul actually did kiss her. Anyway, I’m not going anywhere near there again, but you could. You wouldn’t even have to drink much. I doubt Jango Fett would, anyway. He looks a lot like you.”

Garen stared at Obi-Wan. The things he had done for his friend! He sighed with that long-suffering look in his eyes that quickly turned into a mischievous twinkle. “Why not. That could be interesting. I haven’t been there in years. I understand you used to go to the Outlander Club regularly.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I did. She owes me one, as I remember. I once maimed a man who was harassing her.”

“OK. Would she realize I’m not really Jango Fett?”

“Probably not. She only recognizes me by my hair color, and I’ve interacted with her quite a lot.”

“How bad would it be if I had to kiss her?”

“If you can imagine Asajj with deathsticks shoved down a fully visible bra, and then imagine kissing her, then you can judge for yourself.”

“Um, no thanks. But Darth Maul did kiss her?”

“Yes, he did. On multiple occasions. Apparently he deep-kissed her. That’s how desperate he was for deathsticks and spice. Now, of course, he’s clean and dating my brother’s widow, but that’s another story.”

Garen put a hand to his forehead. “Then again, he’s a Zabrak too. There’s no guarantee she’ll find me attractive, right?”

“Right.”

When Garen entered the Outlander Club later that afternoon around happy hour, he had no trouble identifying the woman. She looked much worse than Asajj did, which was perhaps not surprising given her addiction. Asajj at least had a sort of dangerous beauty to her, like she could chain a man to her bed post and whip him black and blue, but she would be wearing tight black leather and the man would enjoy every minute of it. This woman was not beautiful, dangerous or not. Her face was splotchy, bloated, and lined, which her half-hearted attempt at makeup did not hide very well.

Garen strode up to her, glass of brandy in hand. He would not be able to drink much more than this, at least, not if he wanted to be functional tomorrow. Garen had been to his share of wild parties when he was younger and certainly drank with the best of them, but that was when he was young and stupid. He knew better now.

“Hey, you’re back. Neither of your friends have been here much. Lately I’ve been missing the handsome redheaded one.”

“I don’t think you’ll see much of him anymore, at least not here. He quit drinking altogether some time ago.”

The woman made a face. “It’s treason, then. He betrayed us and became one of those clean-living people. Oh dear. Jedi are boring when they follow the rules and do everything right. I haven’t seen my gorgeous red-skinned Zabrak man, either. I think he’s not planetside.”

“Last I heard he had gotten off the deathsticks and was living on Stewjon.”

“Not him, too! All the best men always leave. It’s so sad. I miss kissing him. I only saw you once before, when you were trying to build a droid army. Did you get one?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Garen was glad that Obi was in the habit of sharing information with his friends. He knew enough about Jango Fett and his villainous schemes to throw out some hooks.

“You poor dear.” She put down her drink and hugged Garen, kissing his cheek. He was not expecting this. Once she disengaged, she pulled a deathstick out of her bra. He noticed the needle marks on her arms, too, suggesting spice use. What did Obi, or even Darth Maul, see in this woman?

“The spice trade has gone back to normal, now that my beautiful man has given up trying to remold it. Pirates and Outer Rim warlords driving up prices for the rest of us. It’s the same with the price of utoz. Grain prices have gone up, so we pay more for booze. My margin is getting smaller all the time. Care for a deathstick?”

“Um, no thanks. I’m a bounty hunter, I have to stay alert.” Jango Fett was not on deathsticks, to the best of anyone’s knowledge. He would not be so dangerous and potent as a mercenary if he were taking substances, anyway.

“All work and no play. That’s what they say, anyway. It’s really too bad about the spice business. I’d rather have a new gang led by a fellow Zabrak—a gorgeous one who kisses divinely, at that—than the Trade Federation taking over the illegal substances market. Not legalizing spice, mind you—I wouldn’t mind that, it would make my business easier—but keeping it illegal while controlling it behind the scenes. Classic Neimoidian behavior. Nobody likes them, and for good reason. They must be short on money if they’re doing this. It wasn’t enough to strike deals with the Hutts, the only source of healthy market competition, they had to get into the business themselves. Next thing you know they’ll be trying to control the slave trade. You can’t harvest spice very well without slaves. Kessel depends on slavery.” She was talking very fast now, perhaps because of the drug. If it were true about the Trade Federation, that would be very bad for the Republic. That kind of corruption would be hard to eradicate.

“Wow, it’s affecting you, too. In the bounty hunting business we don’t ask questions, but I can tell things are getting worse, more controlled.” Garen hoped this statement would spur her to continue, perhaps giving some evidence, while being vague enough in itself that he would not have to blow his cover.

“I had some young men from Merisee come not too long ago. Their senator is a piece of work. Corrupt as sin but won’t let anyone else get in on the game. I don’t understand why the Hutts seem to like him OK. They must be a getting a cut.”

Senator Hrod Milew, no doubt. According to Obi that senator was very suspicious when he was sent to Merisee a few years ago, and by all accounts was very chummy with the Supreme Chancellor himself. Was it possible that the Supreme Chancellor knew what kind of a sleemo his friend was?

“The Hutts are thoroughly unpleasant, I agree.”

“But at least it’s obvious that they’re sleemos. They’re honest about it. Not like a lot of politicians who pretend to uphold the laws of the Republic and oppose slavery when they themselves benefit from slave operations.”

“Slave chips. There’s a whole industry there. I got mixed up in that once.” Garen would be lost without having read Obi’s mission reports. Thank goodness the man was so thorough. Come to think of it, he was like that from the creche. His class assignments were always well-researched and often longer than anyone else’s, to the point that nobody wanted to be his research partner for fear of being held to the same standards that he held himself to, because he was exacting towards his friends in those days. Now, of course, after years of addiction and three quarters of a year of sobriety, he was much more forgiving of other people.

“Oh yes. Have you ever seen a slave? I don’t think they need to be chipped, just look at them and you can see the despair.”

“Oh yes, I’ve seen former slaves, too. It takes a long time to shed that distinctive air.” Poor Anakin, having been born into that nightmare.

At this point a lively tune came on, so that the woman grabbed Garen by the arm and led him onto the dance floor. He was a pilot first, not a dancer, but this woman was addled enough not to notice if he was not such a good dancer. Quinlan would have been best at this part, but there was no way he could be persuaded to cut his dreads for any reason, even to impersonate someone for an undercover mission. He did not look enough like Jango Fett, anyway. Jango Fett himself would probably be a decent dancer, as a Mandalorian, but that dance culture was probably different.

Then the music changed to a slow, cloying love ballad and she grabbed Garen again, hugging him to herself, grinding her pelvis into his, draping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. He could smell the cheap perfume that did not really cover the odor of deathsticks and booze. She was disgusting.

After this had gone on for much too long, some of her regular customers turned up, allowing poor Garen to slip away. Having nursed one glass of brandy the whole evening, he was not too impaired to get home to the Temple or to write up his notes from the woman’s comments. Obi would be pleased. Why the woman thought Jango Fett, as a Mandalorian bounty hunter, Darth Maul, and Obi, whom she clearly knew to be a Jedi, would be friends was a mystery. Perhaps she thought they were friends because she was attracted to all three of them.

Garen did not bother to wipe the kiss marks off of his face before entering the Kenobi-Skywalker apartment. “Obi, you were right about one thing. That woman is a wealth of information, although she’s more disgusting than you led me to believe. After being hugged and kissed and forced to dance by that woman I’d say kissing Asajj sounds downright pleasant.”

“Asajj is actually fairly attractive, you know.” Obi got that mischievous twinkle in his eye. He might consider kissing Asajj Ventress, at least, he would if the mission required it. For all his airs of innocence the man was infuriatingly successful with the ladies. It was obvious that Asajj would be more than happy to kiss him.

“Anyway, here are my notes. The corruption is worse than I thought.”

“My informant in the Senate tells me that, too.”

“You have information sources everywhere. Who is your spy Senator?”

“Senator Amidala of Naboo. She is trustworthy and a friend of the Jedi. For personal reasons, too, I might add, not just because Qui-Gon and I saved her planet.”

Garen groaned. “I should have known.” Leave it to Obi to establish a network of female fans willing to serve the Republic. “You’re practically a Sith yourself, using young women like that.”

“Looks like there’s funny business on Kessel to investigate, too. Anakin will enjoy that. Anything that deals a blow to slavery.”

“There’s always been funny business on Kessel with the spice trade.”

“Of course, but it seems to be getting worse. Nute Gunray is overextending himself, apparently. I’m not surprised he gets along so well with Jabba the Hutt. Birds of a feather and all that.”

Anakin emerged from his room, still stormy from his conversation with Master Dooku. He looked up, noticed Garen, and smiled tentatively. He had always been fond of his master’s friend as a fellow pilot.

“Master Muln!” He approached the two thirty-something knights sitting at the kitchen table, a teapot between them.

“Hello, Anakin. Looks like you’ll be getting another chance to fight slavery. Your master is intent on it.”

Anakin smiled. “Wizard!”

“I asked Garen to do some undercover spying at the Outlander Club, where I used to have a contact. I’ll share the information with you so we can follow up on it together.” Obi-Wan was not sure if Anakin would approve of the fact that the information came from the Outlander Club, but that place had its uses.

The next morning Garen woke up with a bit of a sore throat. It was nothing that a little tea with honey would not fix, but that woman was likely a carrier of all kinds of diseases, so he decided to have himself checked at the Halls of Healing anyway, especially since Bant would be there. She was formally a knight, not a healer, but she had studied medicine in her free time and put in hours of residency at the Halls of Healing, making her invaluable as a mission partner to dangerous places. Master Fisto had been wise to encourage her interest in medicine.

“Hey Gar, did you do something stupid to yourself? I bet Obi was involved if you did.”

“You know me so well. Undercover operations at the Outlander Club, close contact with a spice-addled female informant. Of course Obi sent me there to impersonate Jango Fett. Now I have a sore throat.”

“Tsk, tsk. When will you boys ever learn?” Bant playfully took Garen’s temperature and began assessing him for any other symptoms. There were some barely visible pink splotches on his chest, but over all he was fine. It was a good thing that he had been inoculated properly as a youngling, getting his booster shots at fourteen, for Dantooine Brain Pox.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan was waking up feeling decidedly under the weather. He had a sore throat, brain fog, and his body itched. Obi-Wan threw off the covers and looked down at his chest, exposed during the night when his sleep tunic fell open. His pale skin was covered in red splotches. Oh no. Anakin! That boy had finally been inoculated against a lot of things, but Obi-Wan could not remember if they had covered whatever this was. Obi-Wan himself appeared not to have been immunized properly. What in the Sith hells was this?

Anakin thought it strange that his master did not show up at the breakfast table. Had he gone back to drinking? But it was Master Muln who had been to the Outlander Club, and he would never agree to smuggle bottles here. He knew too much of their fraught history of the last few years for that.

Popping his head into his master’s bedroom, Anakin stopped dead in his tracks. His master was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding on to the bedpost as he tried in vain to stand up. He was clearly too dizzy. The red splotches covering his chest and belly made it obvious what the matter was. Anakin entered the room and came to stand in front of his master. “I can see you need medical attention. Can you get dressed, or do you need help?” Anakin surprised himself. In the past, he had never offered to help his master get dressed, no matter how hungover he was. Of course, this was different. This was an actual medical condition.

“Stay away, Anakin. I don’t want you to get whatever it is that I have.” Anakin nodded. That made sense.

“I guess I’ll tell Master Eerin, then.” Anakin picked up his master’s comm and dialed. “Hello, Master Eerin? This is Anakin. My master is sick. Red splotches all over his chest, too dizzy to stand up and get dressed. Thank you.”

Obi-Wan looked up at his apprentice.

“She’s coming. She said she has a good idea what it is and that she just treated Master Muln for the same thing.”

“Thank you, Anakin. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Obi-Wan wished he could hug the boy, but refrained.


	39. Dantooine Brain Pox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone other than Anakin didn't get vaccinated when he was supposed to. Argorria finds Obi-Wan infuriatingly irresistible. Obi-Wan remembers childhood visions of growing up to be a drunk (because I had those, too).

“Where’s Obi? I’m here to see Obi.” Bant swept into the apartment, making a beeline for the master bedroom. Anakin opened the door to let her through, hanging back by the doorway once she was at his master’s side.

“Oh dear, Obi, this is a bad case. Garen had it too, but his was a light case. If you’ve been properly vaccinated, you shouldn’t have it this bad as an adult.”

“What is it?” Anakin asked from the doorway.

“Dantooine Brain Pox. It’s dangerous if you get it as an unvaccinated adult. It’s strange that Obi has it this bad, though, since I remember the day all of us in the creche got our shots. Obi cried.”

“Please, Bant.” Obi-Wan wheezed.

“Nothing shameful about crying during a vaccination, especially as a three-year-old. I would snicker if you cried during the booster shots at fourteen, though.”

“Booster shots? I don’t remember there being any booster shots.”

“Oh, that’s right. You weren’t there. It was just Gar, Reeft, and me. Siri got hers a couple of years later, because she’s actually younger. Of course Quin got his before us, because he’s older, but you weren’t there. I guess you were still in the middle of that Melida/ Daan disaster.”

“And Qui-Gon didn’t think about it. Of course not, he had just retrieved me from a civil war after I left the Order. No wonder I didn’t get my booster shot. But what about Anakin? Did he get his shots for this?”

“Yes, his medical records show that he did, last year. The shot given to adults and teenagers is different from the shots given to children. He should be safe.”

“I guess I won’t need a booster shot if I survive this.”

“Of course you’re going to survive it, I’m here.”

Obi-Wan smiled feebly at Bant. “I hope my little niece in the creche gets all her shots at the right time.” Even under these circumstances, Obi-Wan had the presence of mind not to blow his daughter’s cover. It seemed likely that Satine would have seen to Korkie’s vaccinations. He didn’t have to worry about his boys, then.

“I’m going to call you a stretcher.” Bant took out her comm and gave them Obi-Wan’s apartment number, all the while fixing Obi-Wan with a glare lest he dare protest. “At least we’re not going to stick you into a bacta tank.”

Obi-Wan lowered his raised arm and resigned himself to his fate. “Anakin, there’s a lesson in this. When I left the Order to join the civil war on Melida/ Daan, I forfeited my chance to get my booster shots. When I returned, I didn’t think about the gaping hole in my medical records, which had to be recovered when I was reinstated as Qui-Gon’s padawan. Now I’m living with the consequences of my earlier decisions. That’s part of owning up to my mistakes.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. Even stricken with a horrible-sounding brain pox, his master remained relentlessly didactic. Nothing was worse than being confined to the Halls of Healing. Their adventures fighting slavery in the Kessel Spice Mines would have to wait. His master was greatly improved after the brain-scrambling effects of post-acute withdrawal, so perhaps brain pox would complete the transformation. Anakin’s eyes flashed yellow at this evil thought, until he noticed, in horror, that the source of that idea was not himself at all. “Master Dooku!” Anakin decided to try reaching his great-grand-master through the mental connection they had forged for joint meditation purposes. He did not have a direct training bond, but he might still be able to go through his own master’s mind if necessary.

“Anakin? Is that you? You managed to reach me. The connection isn’t very good but I can hear you.”

“Good. My master has brain pox and I was glad for a moment. I’m sure that thought was not one of my own.”

“Brain pox? Oh dear, where is he? Halls of Healing?”

“We’re waiting for a stretcher to take us there.”

“All right, I’ll be there.”

Even Master Dooku was more focused on Anakin’s master. He was always the center of attention, drunk or sober. It seemed that he was always full of drama, even as a crecheling, if what Anakin had seen of his memories and heard from others was anything to go on. And yet, he was inexplicably well-loved. Anakin tried to push these thoughts away. He did not want his master’s brain pox or any of the pain or struggles that his master had experienced; he had no business being jealous. And yet.

Master Dooku arrived at the Halls of Healing almost at the same time as Obi-Wan himself, who was put into isolation. Dantooine Brain Pox was highly contagious, and anyone who regularly came into contact with younglings or junior padawans who had not had their booster shots had to be kept out. This did not apply to Master Dooku, so he was allowed in, although Master Che made sure to pass him through a disinfection unit before and after entering Obi-Wan’s sickroom. Master Dooku looked every inch the concerned grandfather as he knelt by the bed, clasping Obi-Wan’s hand and gazing into the blue-green eyes. “My boy, I’m sorry. I should have reminded Qui-Gon that you needed those booster shots.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Master Dooku. I’m responsible for my own health. This is my negligence. I just worry about Anakin. He won’t get this brain pox, but he needs reliable parental figures. I’ve failed him for too many years.”

“I’ll talk to him. His eyes were an alarming yellow-green when I saw him. He said he was having thoughts that weren’t his own.”

“I think he has my datapad. I got Garen to go undercover for me and we got some interesting information, plus this pox.”

Master Dooku shook his head. “Tsk, tsk. All you ever think about is work and Anakin. You need to take care of yourself, too. That boy needs you.”

“I’d better see to it that my daughter gets all of her shots. She better not do stupid things like I did.”

“She’s safe in the creche. Her crechemaster will make sure she grows up properly. You’re responsible for Anakin. The sooner you get better the sooner you can be there for him, be the master he needs.”

When Master Dooku left Obi-Wan’s sickroom, he went through the disinfection process again before finding Anakin. “Ah, there you are. I know this is hard on you, too.”

“I felt almost happy to see him suffer, like he deserves it after what he did to me. I thought I had mostly forgiven him. I heard a little voice in my head say it would be great if he died, because I’ll be seventeen in ninety days and I’m a senior padawan now and I really don’t need a master and he’s holding me back. I don’t really feel that way, I swear! I don’t want him to die. I wouldn’t have hated him if I didn’t love him. He’s the only father I have.”

“You’re right, that isn’t you. I can see by the color of your eyes that you’re being hijacked. It’s normal to feel jealousy toward a family member who is ill and getting more attention than you, to feel upset at a parent who’s not available for you, or to think that your parent is trying to keep you a child. None of that is objectively true, of course, but feeling that way is a normal part of growing up. Wanting your now-sober parent to die is extreme but not unheard-of. But I can see that it isn’t natural for you. That’s not the Anakin I know. You’re a loving boy, maybe even too much.”

Anakin did not resist when Master Dooku scooped him up into his arms--albeit stiffly. The elderly master was still taller than him. He appreciated having his relationship with his master understood in terms of a father-son bond, since that was how Anakin himself saw it. It was not completely the same, but it was good to have it acknowledged as natural instead of stigmatized as an inappropriate attachment that came from Anakin joining the Order too late and not being fit to be a Jedi.

* * *

Darth Sidious had not anticipated these setbacks. Infuriatingly, Kenobi had stopped going to the Outlander Club, according to the deathstick-addicted sister of his aide. Worse, he had quit drinking altogether. This explained a lot. Even Darth Maul was clean now, apparently, but had not reported for duty. What was he doing, anyway? At least young Skywalker was learning jealousy, anger, hate, and fear. The boy was a quick study. As long as that old busybody Dooku did not ruin things. He might have to take out the old Jedi master if he refused to stop his meddling.

Jenna Zan Arbor was a disappointment as well. She had completely failed to make contact, and it had turned out that she was dead. Kenobi must be stopped, preferably driven to relapse. He would only get more dangerous if he stayed sober. Even Grendola Belden was dead, again at Kenobi’s hand. The man was a menace, but as the Chosen One, he had to be turned, not killed. Skywalker was more useful alive as well. Darth Sidious sucked on his rotten teeth and cursed. Why was Kenobi so popular? Despite his best efforts to isolate the ginger fiend, his friends stubbornly clung to him. There was nothing for it but to equip him with new enemies.

* * *

“No, I’m sorry to be rude, but you don’t understand. I don’t drink. It’s not personal. It doesn’t matter who pours, I simply don’t drink alcohol!” The green-skinned Greenies and red-skinned Mimbanese were watching in disbelief as Obi-Wan angered his hosts by refusing their offers of grog. Their eyes turned yellow before Obi-Wan felt his airways constrict. He woke up gasping for air.

“Bad dreams again, Kenobi? No wonder you hate being here.” Vokara Che peered down at him with a hint of a smile about her eyes. From the time he was a tiny youngling, she had always liked him. The last time he was strapped to a bed, he had had hallucinations as part of his acute withdrawal. Normally she would not consider strapping a Dantooine Brain Pox patient to the bed long-term like this, but any humans in the Jinn lineage were liable to try to escape. No, do or do not; there is no try.

Obi-Wan settled back down into his bed. He saw that he was tied down and sighed. Another consequence of questionable decisions from his past. An IV was in his arm, taking away the excuse that he needed his arms free in order to eat. He was not hungry anyway. Despite his efforts since being discharged at fifteen days sober, he was still thinner than he should have been. Thanks to his efforts to get his muscles back he was wiry now, which would not be a bad thing as he got older, but he was still a young man in his early thirties.

“I want to scratch an itch.” Now that he was aware of his own physical presence, he had noticed that his whole body itched and his scalp felt grimy. A hot shower would help immensely.

“Oh no, you don’t. I know those splotches itch. That’s one reason you’re strapped down. Scratching will spread the problem.”

“My scalp.” Anything was better than being helpless to scratch his itchy body. “I haven’t been able to wash my hair for who knows how long.”

“Nope. You won’t just scratch your scalp, anyway. We wipe you down regularly, including your head. There’s not much length of hair to wash. You have splotches on your scalp as well. It was most convenient to be able to see that without having a lot of long, thick hair in the way. Unlike your master.”

Obi-Wan had to accept defeat. He was the one who had unwittingly sent Garen to pick up the pox in the first place, and it was his own fashion choices that made it easy for medical staff to clean his scalp and hair, taking away that excuse to get unstrapped and out of bed. Master Che knew him too well.

He could use a distraction. Obi-Wan realized that he would have craved a drink under these circumstances in the past, but now he felt revulsion at the idea of alcohol. Perhaps one reason he hated being stuck in the Halls of Healing so much was that he could not sneak drinks. That was irrelevant now. No, he had hated this place long before that. On the other hand, he had always had glimmers of the future shown to him in visions, and even as a youngling had seen himself drunk in these nightmares; Master Yoda had told him that the future was not immutable, so he had forgotten about it at the time, but he had just now remembered those visions. He had known, aged eight, that he would grow up to be an alcoholic, and had done nothing to stop his slide down that path.

“Tormenting yourself about the past again, are you?” A familiar voice broke into his thoughts. “See into your mind I can, because shielding you are not.”

“Master Yoda.”

“A youngling’s disease you have as a grown man, while grownup worries you had as a youngling.” It was almost possible to hear the ears twitching just from Master Yoda’s tone of voice.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s quite miserable.”

At least the little green master refrained from whacking him with that gimmer stick. “Always troubled about the future or the past were you. The present never bad enough was, heh?”

“It is now.”

“But still the past you worry about.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

After a full twenty days stuck in the Halls of Healing, Obi-Wan was finally free. He was frankly glad that he had had Anakin inoculated against everything in the galaxy, even if his motivations at the time were questionable, and had taken the precaution of double-checking if he himself had missed any other vaccinations. With his own habit of leaving the Order, anything was possible. Master Che gave him the all-clear, to his great relief. Now he could go on missions again.

“I don’t want to see Master Che again for a long time. Nothing personal, of course.” Obi-Wan smiled when Anakin initiated the hug. The boy used to be the affectionate one, back in the old days before his master was a hopeless drunk. Apparently he was at least partially forgiven.

They were sitting in the refectory, glad to have something other than Master Yoda’s stew, when Obi-Wan caught sight of the blue and white montrals of a small terra cotta brown-skinned girl sporting a string of padawan beads down the back of her head. The young Togruta was obviously alone and leaking worry into the Force around her. Her master had a lot of work to do on shielding techniques. When she brought her tray and began looking for a seat, Obi-Wan saw his chance.

“Ahsoka! Would you like to join us?”

Her face lit up when she realized who was calling to her. “Master Kenobi! Skyguy!” She scooted into the seat next to Obi-Wan without spilling the contents of her meal tray. Anakin blinked when she nestled into his master’s outer tunic, burying her face into his chest. Anakin almost said, “Hey, that’s MY master!” but thought better of it. She clearly had something on her mind.

“We’re being sent to Mimban. I have a bad feeling about that place.” Obi-Wan nodded in understanding. What was the Council thinking, sending Argorria there, when the planet was full of alcoholics? There might be plenty of recovery groups as well, but he had a feeling that she would shun them. She needed a sober buddy if she were to survive her mission.

“When are you leaving?” It was Anakin who asked.

“Tomorrow evening. I asked my teachers to let me have my homework for while we’re away.”

“Good job.” Obi-Wan smiled. This was not quite the exuberant little girl he remembered, but at least her curiosity was intact. There was no doubt that she was a handful, but then, all the brightest younglings were.

As soon as they were back in their apartment Obi-Wan commed Master Windu. “I’m sorry to be impertinent, but I have reason to believe it’s not a good idea to send Argorria Motigora to Mimban without another adult in the group, preferably myself.”

“Woah there, Obi-Wan. Aren’t you racked up in the Halls of Healing with some horrid little childhood disease?”

“I was discharged today. I can go wherever I’m needed.”

“And you think she needs you. May I ask why?”

“If it were me in her position I would ask for another knight in recovery to be my sober buddy, especially on a mission to a planet where the native population is prone to alcoholism.”

After a stunned silence on the other end, both men cleared their throats at the same time. Finally Master Windu spoke. “All right, I see your point. I won’t tell her why you’re joining her mission. You guys are supposed to stay anonymous, aren’t you? And no knight likes to be accused of being drunk or close to relapse. I would accuse you of being a goody-goody and a workaholic if the success of the mission and the safety of her padawan weren’t at stake, not to mention if I didn’t know your history.”

“Thank you.”

“You are to go to the Nanth Flatlands and make contact with Chief Iasento, a tribal leader there. I hope you like swamps. May the Force be with you.”

No sooner had he ended the conversation than he noticed a familiar presence standing just behind the sofa where he was sitting. Anakin must have let him in. Obi-Wan smiled and turned his head to look at his friend. “Hey Gar. Thanks for the brain pox. That was really special, I must say.”

“Hey, I had it too. The things I do for you against my better judgement!” Garen threw both hands up into the air in mock exasperation and smirked.

“You had a light case because you got your booster shot when you were supposed to. I did enjoy reading the intelligence you gathered. That was worth it.”

“And what’s this about rushing off to Mimban? You’re incorrigible, Obi.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Obi-Wan grinned as he put the kettle on for tea. “And you got a glimpse into my old life. I don’t miss it at all, in case you were wondering. I’m sorry about all the things I said and did, especially the things I don’t remember. I do remember that I accused you of trying to steal Anakin from me, which was completely ridiculous.”

“That was weird, but I forgave you long ago. May the Force be with you on your mission, and if you need a pilot to rescue you, let me know.”

“He’s got me.” Anakin piped up, although his smile proved that he was not offended in any way.

“If he needs another pilot, I guess. Your master is actually a pretty good pilot himself, except that he doesn’t like flying anymore.”

“Flying is for droids.” Obi-Wan remembered a time when he actually liked flying, but that was before he had had too many traumatic experiences.

Garen tried to run his hand over Anakin’s blond curls, but found Anakin to be roughly the same height as himself. “Well, I guess I’d better be going.”

“You’re welcome any time. You know that.” Obi-Wan pumped fists with his friend as they moved toward the doorway.

The next day, Argorria Motigora was less than delighted when Obi-Wan and Anakin joined her and Ahsoka at the spaceport, and even more annoyed when a whole crowd turned out to see them off. Why did Obi-Wan have to tell everyone at the recovery meeting that they were going on a mission together? The man was now annoyingly perfect, no longer the endearingly pathetic lifeform he had been when he first got sober. Well-put together, organized, well-liked, graceful, good-looking, immaculately-groomed without being prissy or high-maintenance, it just wasn’t fair.

Once they were on the ship, Ahsoka deposited herself onto Obi-Wan’s lap as if he were her master. Argorria rolled her eyes. Anakin, sitting in the pilot’s seat, noticed her exasperation, since she was co-pilot. “You too?”

Argorria snapped out of her reverie and blushed slightly when she realized that she had let the man’s padawan see her less-than-masterly feelings. “Um, uh, what?”

“You find my master annoying, too. He just barely got out of the Halls of Healing, and yet he really wanted to go on this mission. Force knows why, he must be fond of swamps or something. If you lived with him like I do, you would go crazy, because our apartment is always immaculately spotless, except for my room. He’s too perfect. Nobody looks good with the stupid padawan haircut, but of course he manages to look good with a modified version, which he wears better than any actual padawans do. It’s almost as if he’s making fun of me by being so perfect. You know the other side, though, don’t you? What a mess he was before, what kind of mess he made out of my life?”

“Um, yeah, I’ve heard his shares at meetings, especially the story of his rock bottom, on your lifeday, no less.”

“And you found him cute at first, too. People are always drawn to him, especially women. I don’t get it, but I’ve seen it so many times.”

“You’re right, I did. He looks better and healthier now than he did, though.”

“You should have seen him with Dantooine Brain Pox. I was almost afraid I was going to lose him for a while in there.”

“I can see that you love him, no matter what you say about him. I just hope Ahsoka will love me like that, too.” She turned to look at Anakin’s face. He was quickly growing into a handsome young man in his own right. “You have such interesting green eyes. I’ve never seen eyes that shade of green on a human, before.”

Anakin’s interesting green eyes went wide in horror. A quick check in the mirror confirmed what Argorria had said. They were a yellow-green that seemed to get yellower over time. “They were sky blue originally.”

“Human eyes can change color? Wow.”

“My master’s eyes were green for a while, too, until he got sober. Now they’re back to his original color. That’s one way I can tell that he’s not drinking. I’m not quite seventeen, and I don’t drink, so that’s not the reason for the change for me.”

Once they were in hyperspace and Ahsoka had fallen asleep, Obi-Wan gently lifted her off of his lap and settled her into the lower rung of the two bunkbeds on the left side of the sleeping room. He stretched his limbs that had gone to sleep and moseyed to the cockpit to check on Anakin. It was interesting to hear the boy telling Argorria how annoyingly perfect Obi-Wan was, when Obi-Wan knew all too well how imperfect he actually was. He ran a hand through his freshly-cropped hair. Who knew it was such a crime to prefer a tidy appearance and home for oneself?

“Did my apprentice give you any new insights into my rock bottom?” Obi-Wan finally joined the conversation after listening in for a while.

“You scared me!” Argorria turned around in her seat to look at Obi-Wan. “We’re just jealous of how perfect you are.”

“Funny, I’m pretty sure I’m far from perfect. I’m surprised I haven’t been kicked out of the Order again for the things I did while I was drinking.” He stroked his neatly-trimmed beard and smirked.

“Again? You’ve been kicked out before?” Argorria stared in disbelief.

“Yes, I have. As an Initiate, no less. I was a handful as a padawan, and as Anakin will tell you, as a master as well.”

“What did you do?”

“I was sent to the Agricorps on Bandomeer. Nobody wanted me as their padawan. Too angry, too stubborn, too willful. As Anakin can attest, I haven’t changed that much. Master Jinn finally took me on, but you know his reputation for adopting pathetic lifeforms. I was the most pathetic of all of his projects.”

Argorria began to feel almost sorry that she had resented him and his seeming perfection. Despite appearances, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi had struggled and felt inadequate, pathetic even. Of course he had, something had driven him to drink, after all, and it was apparently not the boredom of being perfect.

“That must be why Snips likes you so much, Master.” Anakin teased. He had earned the right to tease his master, at least, he believed he had.

“Snips?” Argorria cocked a white forehead marking as a question.

“That’s what I call Ahsoka. She calls me Skyguy, so I came up with a dumb nickname for her, too. Repay the favor.”

Argorria laughed. Anakin was still a silly teenage boy, after all. His eyes were looking a little less yellow as he smiled and laughed. Humans could be such strange and beautiful creatures.

“Hey, I think there’s a meeting starting in a few minutes. When I’m on a mission I use the holoprojector and join in that way. Want to join me?”

“What, in front of my padawan?” Argorria’s blue eyes went wide with horror and her montrals quivered.

“She’s asleep. Besides, Anakin has seen me join in meetings that way. He saw me at my worst, he deserves to see me working at doing better.”

“All right, if you insist.”

“I can set it up right here in the cockpit. If Ahsoka wakes up, Anakin can go check up on her, maybe help her with some homework.”

Argorria gave Obi-Wan a wary smile. Seeing Master Dooku smiling at her master when Obi-Wan had completed the transmission setup process made her skin crawl in shame and anger, but she said nothing. She did not want pity or any atta-girls from the old-timers, either.

Obi-Wan was maddeningly enthusiastic about reciting the Jedi Code, introducing himself as an alcoholic, and nodding along to the cliched slogans. Argorria tried to convince herself that she did not miss these meetings, but part of her did. Anakin seemed unfazed by the stories shared, as if he had seen and heard it all. To her surprise, Obi-Wan was the warm-up speaker. He was, as always, frustratingly good at this, just as he was probably good at everything, even at being a drunk.

His story about Mandalore suggested that he could sing, and that he had a weakness for blondes. Argorria had thought her Code violations were bad, but she did not have a secret lover anywhere in the galaxy. It was clear to her that the noblewoman in his story was more than just a one-night stand.

After the meeting, she sized him up—again—with a critical eye. “You had a girlfriend, didn’t you?”

Anakin snorted. Obi-Wan blushed a little and looked down at his hands, the fingers of his right hand playing with the base of the ring finger of his left hand. “Not exactly a girlfriend.” He had a feeling he could not trust Argorria with the secret, so he left it at that, giving Anakin a glare to keep him quiet. Argorria watched him play with an imaginary wedding ring and gulped as she guessed the truth.

“Oh.”

He looked up at her with a pained expression. Apparently he did not share everything, even at the recovery meetings he seemed to find so important. Anakin, however, seemed to know all of the details, but was too loyal to tell after all.


	40. Mimban

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salacious B. Crumb laughs hysterically while Anakin manages to get himself into a dangerous race. Argorria struggles with more than one kind of thirst. Obi-Wan is carefully reckless, as always.

Mimban was far away. Argorria felt conflicted about getting there. Obi-Wan spent much of his time either working with the padawans with their studies or holoprojecting himself into recovery meetings, which Argorria felt pressured to attend with him. He never said anything directly and did not give her any bullying looks, but she still felt as if he had somehow mind-tricked her. She finally understood what made him so persuasive: she was willing to swear that he was subtly using his looks, probably without even being aware of it, which made it all the more effective, especially since it was not for his own gain. Waking up in the bunkbed on the other side of the room as him, seeing him sit up and rub his eyes, the hair at the top of his head sticking up in all different directions in fetching little spikes that he forced to form a part and lie flat, it was torture for her to pretend not to find him devastatingly attractive. If she were still drinking, she would not be able to keep her hands to herself, any more than her drunken master could when she was a little girl. He didn’t seem to remember those incidents, so she never talked about them. At least Obi-Wan was a grown man and not a child.

Young Ahsoka also found him irresistible, but not in the same way, thank the Force. She spent much of her time following him around the ship, sometimes holding onto the hem of his outer tunic. No amount of eye-rolling from Anakin could stop her. Whenever Obi-Wan was sitting down the young girl would creep up on him from behind and muss up his hair, getting away with something Argorria wished she could. Touching the ridges of a Togruta man’s montrals was a time-honored way to express romantic interest; perhaps this was why Argorria found herself reacting instinctually to Obi-Wan’s bedhead, as the short spikes mimicked montral ridges. There had clearly been a woman involved in the selection of this style.

Just when Argorria was sure she could not endure any more of having him so tantalizingly close, they arrived on Mimban. Anakin quickly discovered that the mud swamp was no more pleasant than sandy desert, but Obi-Wan seemed oddly at home. “This place looks like Dagobah but smells more like the Gungans’ realm on Naboo. Jar-Jar would be a help here.” Anakin perked up at the mention of his favorite planet, a reaction not lost on his master.

At first the planet seemed uninhabited, until a local emerged from the mud. His skin was red, and he did not seem to have a nose or any lips, while his big blue eyes did not have irises or whites but were solid blue. He was completely bald as well, although Anakin hardly noticed that at first. The man wore a pilot’s red jumpsuit, although it was mostly covered with straw.

“Hello there. I hope this is the Nanth Flatlands?” Obi-Wan sounded so smooth and calm even in the mud.

“Yes, it is. You must be the Jedi we asked for. This way to Chief Iasento.”

The four Jedi followed the man to the entrance of an underground chamber. Anakin started feeling nervous, as this reminded him of Utapau, but his master’s hand on his shoulder helped to calm him. “Anakin, stop panicking.”

“Welcome, Masters Jedi. I am Chief Iasento. I requested Jedi help to resolve some issues we have with the mining company.”

“Yes, that is the kind of thing that Jedi do.” Argorria smiled at him. Why did the Council think this would require four Jedi instead of just two? She was well aware of Obi-Wan’s reputation as a negotiator, but still.

Anakin noticed his master rubbing the back of his head, a sure sign that he was getting a Force-warning. There must be more going on than what meets the eye. “Slaves, Anakin.” A subtle message over their training bond was enough to get the senior padawan to look sharp.

“The mining company keeps encroaching on our land and our tribesmen keep disappearing. When I confront the company representatives they just laugh and send back dead bodies of tribesmen—if we’re lucky.”

“Is this an off-world company?” Obi-Wan was having uncomfortable flashbacks of a certain young man with black hair and an evil gleam in his intelligent eyes. It would not be strange for Xanatos himself to be involved in this sort of thing, except that he was definitely long dead.

“Yes, it is.”

“Is it headquartered on Telos IV?”

“No, I don’t think so. It sounds like you have prior experience with these companies. They’re evil.”

Obi-Wan nodded. From environmental destruction to rights abuses to every other form of illegality imaginable, mining companies had been behind many of the disasters that were his least pleasant missions.

Their quarters were certainly adequate, with the plain twin beds and two chairs set up around a small table by the back wall, which should have been a window, but the room was underground. Obi-Wan found cleaning supplies in the closet by the door and started sweeping the floor. Anakin stared. “What are you doing, Master? Don’t you think they cleaned the room before assigning it to us?”

“I suppose they did, but—"

Anakin finally understood. “Cleaning is something you do to meditate, isn’t it, the way I tinker with droids? Is that why your space at home always looks like that? You must be really stressed all the time if you’re driven to clean compulsively.”

Even though Obi-Wan was now waist-deep under a bed, Anakin could feel his weary little smile. Suddenly the Force around Obi-Wan seemed to shift.

“What is it, Master?”

Obi-Wan emerged from under the bed clutching a large coin that was silver in the middle with a ring of gold around it. His hand was shaking ever so slightly. “This coin. I recognize it. It’s not actually currency at all, but it slots into a device. Unfortunately, I don’t remember much beyond that. I do remember sitting at a round, rough-hewn wooden table with pirates trying to get me to bet on Qui-Gon’s life. That was traumatic so I suppose I tried to block out the memory.”

“Do you think there’s another one under Argorria’s bed?” Anakin came closer to examine the coin. It looked like a gambling chip, perhaps a token from Jabba’s palace. Anakin tried to remember where he had seen such a coin before, and found to his surprise that he could not. It was so tantalizingly familiar, though. Was it possible that the Hutts were somehow involved?

“The Hutts? You may be right, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan brushed the dust off of his clothes and exited the room, Anakin in tow, then knocked on Argorria’s door. He could feel her heart skip a beat as she opened it, and chose to assume that she was worried about betrayal or danger, not that she had developed a silly crush on him or Anakin.

“Argorria, I found this under my bed. Are there any more of these in your room? If you wanted to hide something in your room, where would you put it? I thought about where I used to hide bottles and looked all over my room for more of these casino tokens, but didn’t find any.”

She came closer to take the token from Obi-Wan. When her hand touched his as she took it, she felt a frisson of electricity run up and down her spine. She really had to pull herself together and not be a silly junior padawan around him. This was too embarrassing, especially in front of both of their padawans. His lips probably tasted better than any of the booze she used to drink. She wanted him to touch her, but on the other hand, she could not bear it if he did. She invited them in to help look, with Ahsoka delighting in the impromptu treasure hunt.

They were not near Hutt Space. Why had there been such a coin here, of all places? Obi-Wan looked again at the coin more closely and noticed the Huttese inscription. He handed it to Anakin to decipher, as the native Huttese speaker.

“Jabba’s palace. This is from the casino. The last time I saw one of these, I was too young to read. Watto sometimes dropped these in the shop after he came back from losing bets. I remember now.”

“That means that characters rough enough to gamble with Jabba have been here. I hope it wasn’t Quin.” Obi-Wan’s joke fell flat because Argorria and Ahsoka had not had the pleasure of knowing Quinlan Vos yet.

“Slavers. Slavers would gamble with Jabba and come to a mining planet. But why would they stay in our quarters?” Anakin shuddered.

“Chief Iasento may not have much say in the matter when mining company types and their chums come here and need a place to stay. I don’t think he’s duplicitous.” Argorria knew a dishonest man when she saw one. As a woman of a species often enslaved, she had seen her share of double-talking, sneaky, imperious men who thought they could manipulate her, not realizing that she was a Jedi.

“I want to take a walk, stretch my legs.” Ahsoka piped up. It was not clear how much of the earlier conversation she had heard or understood, given that she was still only twelve years old, but the two adults smiled. A walk would be excellent as a cover story for reconnaissance.

Anakin did not enjoy the squelching sound his boots made in the mud. He would have assumed that his master would dislike getting his boots muddy, but the man seemed to be at peace, as if he were merely an interplanetary tourist having fun on holiday with his brand-new blended family.

Suddenly Obi-Wan stopped and bent down. Amphibious eyes with a narrow slit for pupils stared up at him while long appendages hung from the shoulders of the Klatooine paddy frog that had no business being on Mimban. It seemed possible that the invasive species had been introduced to feed visiting Hutts. The frog was an impressively pathetic little lifeform.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan addressed the frog. He did not expect a response, of course. “Fancy meeting you here.” He shifted his gaze from the frog to Anakin. _See, this is why Jedi study about non-sentient life on each planet._ Argorria, who was also staring blankly at the frog, got a pained look in her eyes and began to say, “My master—” when a red-skinned Mimbanese suddenly popped out of the mud and grabbed Ahsoka. A speederbike appeared out of nowhere and Ahsoka and her master were hoisted onto it. Obi-Wan and Anakin drew their lightsabers, but when there were no more would-be kidnappers or assailants Obi-Wan withdrew his weapon and began running in the direction the speederbike had gone, using the Force to help him speed through the mud. Anakin kept pace right behind him, making him proud.

Eventually they reached a collection of large tents that looked rather like a circus. Obi-Wan felt Anakin stiffen behind him. The boy had felt the presence of a Hutt. That meant that the two Togruta Jedi had been taken for purposes other than mining. Oh yes, the mines. They must not forget the original mission.

“The Hutt might be here to inspect the mine,” Obi-Wan commented over their training bond. “Can you tell one Hutt from another?”

“Yes. My first owner was Gardulla, and Jabba was the main honoree when I was in the Boonta Eve Classic.”

“Good. We need a plan.”

That was when the master-padawan pair noticed the scuffle going on behind the main tent as two figures with blue and white montrals struggled to get free from their captors. They were being led to a high wall behind the tents; there must be a door somewhere back there.

Obi-Wan Force-shielded his presence as he crept closer and closer to the wall, in case there were Darksiders nearby. When he found the door in the wall, he turned to face his apprentice. “Ana—”

There was no sign of Anakin. Where did he go? Obi-Wan clicked his tongue in annoyance and then smiled. _That’s my boy, just like me at that age. And Qui-Gon too, for that matter. Your legacy is being carried on, Master._ There was no use trying to train Anakin not to be Anakin, because that was impossible. No, there was nothing for it but to try not to panic.

“Master, it’s Jabba in the main tent.”

“Good job, Anakin. Don’t get caught.”

“What about Snips?”

“I’m fairly certain her master is deliberately going along with being captured. She is probably trying to gather intelligence that way. That’s a strategy we can use when we have more than one pair of Jedi.” Never let a teachable moment go to waste.

Obi-Wan used the Force to open the door and slipped into a utilitarian control building. There was a machine on one wall that caught his eye. It was the same dull grey as the wall and should have been inconspicuous, but something about it jumped out at Obi-Wan. He noticed a flap covering a control panel. Somehow he knew that there was a slot under the flap that was terribly important. As he hid in a storeroom he heard voices. “Show the two Togruta females to the potential recruits, tell them they’ll have free access to them. Get them in a good mood, get them drunk, then it’s easy to slip the slave collars on them. When they wake up it’s always fun to tell them that beautiful ladies are strictly for His Excellency’s pleasure. Mother-daughter pairs are too valuable to let slaves paw over them. Remember, always keep them tipsy at all times so that they’re always too confused to escape. If any die or get too damaged in mining accidents just dump the bodies and get some more mud dwellers to be slaves.”

“Yes, sir!”

Obi-Wan shuddered. So this was the way things were done here. The individual referred to as “His Excellency” was undoubtedly Jabba. Who were these people, then, who were fronting the operation?

Obi-Wan nudged Anakin through their training bond. “Let me know when the Motigora-Tano pair appear in Jabba’s tent. There’s something I want to try here.” It was just a matter of time.

“Master, I have the perfect diversion for Jabba and his men. Hutts and their associates are always inveterate gamblers. Trust me.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re going to be the death of me? It’s some kind of stupidly dangerous race you have in mind, isn’t it? Of course I trust you. May the Force be with you.”

“You know me too well, Master.”

“Of course I do, my very young apprentice. Just try not to get killed.”

He could feel Anakin wrinkling his nose at being called “my very young apprentice,” but surely the boy realized that Obi-Wan used the phrase as a term of endearment, an expression of his paternal affection towards the boy. He did not like the idea of anyone trying to enslave Ahsoka, either. Her master was an adult who could handle herself but Ahsoka was a force of nature, like Anakin, and Obi-Wan realized that he could not watch her be damaged by slavery.

Anakin slipped into the main tent and the stench of Jabba was overwhelming. Oh yes, the first three years of his life had smelled like this. Jabba had his sidekicks with him, too. Anakin recognized the Yarkoran with cheek fur, a long face, and big nose. Saelt-Marae looked harmless enough but looks were deceiving. He was not the independent merchant he claimed to be; there was little doubt that he was involved in the slavery and mining concerns of the Hutts.

Ah, there they are. Anakin recognized the red-eyed, pink-skinned Twi’lek man who was Jabba’s majordomo. Bib Fortuna had Ahsoka and her master by the lekku and was dragging them into Jabba’s presence. As a Twi’lek with lekku himself he was well aware of how much it hurt a Togruta to be dragged by the lekku. He did it deliberately to hurt their pride as well, a little gesture that marked him out as a former slave trader. Perhaps not even “former.” Anakin watched in the shadows as the two Togruta Jedi had long chains attached to them. Amazingly, nobody had realized that these lovely ladies were Jedi, for there was no attempt made to remove their lightsabers or equip them with Force-inhibiting collars. Knight Motigora was deliberately making this easy for them so that they would not search her for weapons. Bib Fortuna used the chains to attach them to Jabba’s seat.

Anakin noticed a Mimbanese man laughing with Salacious B. Crumb. Perhaps the man was drunk, was his first thought, but judging by Jabba’s responses to him, he was merely a young local thug trying to curry favor.

“Perhaps you would enjoy proving to His Excellency that you have the necessary courage and reflexes to be granted the honor of serving him. A speederbike race would be the standard procedure here. If you win, you will be allowed to operate the mines as an independent, local affiliate. If you lose, you will join the slaves in the mines, which would revert to His Excellency’s ownership, but it would be unlikely for you to survive. Do we have a deal?” Bib Fortuna was smirking. “Is there anyone willing to race our young friend here?”

Now was Anakin’s chance. “Yes, I’d like to race him. I’m Anakin Skywalker, the only human to ever win the Boonta Eve Classic.” Surely Jabba would remember.

“Welcome, young Skywalker. His Excellency judges you a worthy opponent.” Bib Fortuna continued to smirk. “This way to the speederbikes.”

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan slowly opened the door of the storeroom a crack. Ah, the coast is clear. He slipped back into the main control room and to the suspicious box on the wall. A quick Force-probe did not reveal any alarm systems. Obi-Wan gingerly lifted the flap. Good, there was a slot underneath, just as he had thought. “Engage all slave collars,” it said, and apparently it was turned on. Obi-Wan reached into the folds of his tunic, pulled out the casino chip, and smiled. It was just the right size. This was not his first experience with playing a slot machine, nor would it be his last, but it would undoubtedly be the most satisfying. He inserted the circuit-breaking token into the slot and slipped back out of the building. As he made his way to the door in the wall he could hear whooping and cheering among the slaves. Apparently it had worked. It would be up to the Mimbanese slaves to take charge of their own revolt now.

Obi-Wan had made it away from the wall just in time to avoid being seen as the entrance flap to the main tent was lifted up for Jabba to watch the race. Obi-Wan shook his head and smiled at the sight of Anakin sitting on a speederbike set on the top of the wall. This was insanely dangerous but also classically Anakin. He nudged the boy through the training bond, sending him waves of encouragement. Anakin’s response was to lower his mental shields so that his master could see the Togruta Jedi.

Salacious B. Crumb laughed hysterically for a long minute until Bib Fortuna gave the signal to start. At that moment, Argorria gave her padawan a look. The two were sitting on the dais under Jabba’s seat, a little behind him. Argorria Force-cloaked them both as she and her apprentice got up, moved behind Jabba, and cast their chains up and over Jabba’s head, forming a strangely gaudy necklace, and pulled. Bib Fortuna pretended not to notice that his employer was being choked to death; apparently his loyalty was not as deep as it seemed.

As soon as Jabba’s belabored breathing stopped, there was a loud crash of a speederbike hitting a building, more than likely a watchtower. Obi-Wan’s heart jumped up into his throat until he felt Anakin sending reassurance through the training bond. If anything happened to that boy he would never forgive himself. The ghost of Qui-Gon would haunt him for the rest of his days, accusing him of breaking his promise.

Bib Fortuna was smiling now, clearly believing himself to be the natural heir to the mine and its slaves. Obi-Wan was not naïve enough to think that he would make Anakin any good offers, but he also knew Anakin well enough to know that he would not be tempted by the prospect of owning slaves.

At that moment, the roar of suddenly free and half-drunk slaves grew louder as they overran their foremen. Bib Fortuna’s expression changed as he turned to face the Togruta Jedi, who had slipped out of their chains by now, thanks to Ahsoka’s tiny wrists. She had spotted Obi-Wan and given him a huge grin as she slipped her hands out of the cuffs and used her now-free hands to remove the chains at her neck and feet, then helped her master to do the same.

Bib Fortuna pulled a blaster on the women and fired at little Ahsoka. Obi-Wan did not think. She was so young and her Jar’Kai still undeveloped. He leaped in front of her, deflecting the blaster shot with his lightsaber, aiming it directly at Bib Fortuna’s throat. The Twi’lek man gagged in pain and anger, unable to scream, while Salacious B. Crumb continued to guffaw. Obi-Wan hugged Ahsoka, assessing her for damage, then squeezed Argorria’s shoulder as they slipped out of the tent to find Anakin and get out of there. The mob would be dangerous in its current state; it would not be possible to negotiate anything right now. The fate of Mimban and its mines was best determined by the Mimbanese, after all. If Bib Fortuna was not dead yet, he would be, soon.

Anakin was smiling as he patted the saddle of the speederbike that had led him to victory. He threw his arms around his master for the first time in a long time, squeezing the smaller man quite breathless. “Let’s go find Chief Iasento.”

The four Jedi were walking through the mud fields when a Mimbanese woman popped out of the mud. “Masters Jedi. Can you tell me what has become of my son? He disappeared three days ago, along with two of his cousins.”

“I believe they will be home soon, if they were taken for the mines. The slavers will not be in pursuit.” Obi-Wan was the master of understatement. “Could you point us in the direction of Chief Iasento’s headquarters, madam?”

Anakin rolled his eyes but smiled. This was classic Obi-Wan Kenobi. The woman blinked her lidless eyes, stared for a moment, then pointed them in the right direction. They might not even need to spend the night if Chief Iasento decided that they had done enough.

* * *

Almost as soon as they got back onto their ship, Argorria began to feel a disturbance in the Force. She probed the remains of her training bond with her master and frowned. She dare not cry, especially not in front of Ahsoka. The girl appeared not to notice, the way she and Anakin teased each other, but Argorria felt her padawan’s worry.

One of the first things that Obi-Wan did as soon as they were safely in hyperspace was to take off his muddy boots and clothes and take a sonic shower. Even though he never appeared in any state of undress in the common areas, just the thought of his warm, strong arms enveloping her, the firm skin of his bare chest against her cheek as she cried in worry over her master’s ailing health, and his velvet voice cooing in her ear were enough to make her weak at the knees and need to sit down.

He did, however, notice the tension in her shoulders and the way she bit her lip. Obi-Wan sat on the bed next to her, saying nothing directly to Argorria herself, but nudging Master Dooku through the training bond. He had guessed what was making Argorria act this way.

“Argorria’s master is in the Halls of Healing. He’s alive, but not doing so well. His internal organs are finally succumbing to the damage caused by years of drinking, even though he has eight years sober. I’m afraid it might be too late.”

Obi-Wan looked down at his lap and stroked his beard. Losing a master never got any easier, even when one was an adult at the time. On the other hand, he was not gone yet, and Argorria would have the chance to say goodbye if he made it until they reached Coruscant. Force, Obi-Wan would miss the old Nautolan master, too. His warm, quiet presence at meetings had helped to anchor Obi-Wan when he first got sober.

They were most of the way back to Coruscant when the ship picked up a distress signal. Obi-Wan immediately recognized the frequency as that of Asajj Ventress. He sent a response asking for details; it was a fairly simple pickup request, since their ship had been damaged beyond repair in a firefight with pirates, forcing them to crash-land on an obscure moon. Picking them up would not take too long.

When they landed next to the wreckage of Asajj Ventress’ ship, Argorria woke up expecting to be back on Coruscant, and was dismayed to find that Obi-Wan had ignored their need to hurry back. What was he thinking? Argorria felt something gnawing on her insides when she recognized the two women who were joining them. Alema was two years older than Anakin, tough, and a good role model for Ahsoka, but it was obvious from the way that Asajj Ventress’ eyes sparkled that she shared Argorria’s appreciation for Obi-Wan and his masculine beauty and charm. He had smiled to see her, too.

The one good thing about Asajj Ventress was that she had brought a large stash of dried namana chips. Obi-Wan was polite yet firm in his refusal, explaining that he hated namana, while Anakin, Asajj Ventress, Alema, and even Ahoska only nibbled a few chips each. Argorria could not stop her hand from digging into the bag and shoving the chips into her mouth. The others were polite enough not to stare, but they had noted her gluttonous reaction just the same. How dare they judge her for binge-eating namana chips when her master was dying and they had nonchalantly delayed her return to his bedside?

Obi-Wan noticed the way Asajj Ventress favored her left shoulder ever so slightly. It was not hard to guess that she had gotten at least a scratch from a blaster shot. She did not seem to be using her left hand, either. He would definitely insist that she join them in visiting Argorria’s master in the Halls of Healing. Obi-Wan suppressed an evil grin at the idea of trapping his friend in that hated place.

As soon as they landed on Coruscant Obi-Wan did indeed make a beeline for the Halls of Healing, knowing from experience that all of the ladies would follow him. Anakin had nowhere better to be, since he could not openly go to see Padme, so he tagged along. He felt Master Dooku’s presence long before he saw him. Anakin realized that he had never met Ahsoka’s grand-master before, although he had heard his voice when Obi-Wan holoprojected himself into meetings.

The elderly Nautolan grinned as soon as he caught sight of Argorria. She dropped all pretenses of Jedi decorum and ran to his bedside, kneeling down and clasping his hand in one fluid motion. She stroked the wrinkled green skin of his hand. “I’m sorry for anything I did to you that I shouldn’t have, whether I remember it or not. Now that I’m about to be one with the Force, I can finally say that I have always loved you as a daughter.”

“Master!” Argorria buried her face in her master’s medical gown and tried to muffle her sobs. All of her memories of him, some frightening and confusing, others happy and warm, came back to her in a jumble. In this moment she did not care about the Jedi way. “There is no death, there is the Force.” The elderly master smiled and closed his eyes as he breathed his last.


	41. Living with Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As alcoholics we hope that the bad things we did drunk don't count, because we didn't mean them, but that's not how our families see it. Obi-Wan hopes to supervise Anakin's romance with Padme, since it's inevitable anyway. Maul is finally happy.

The funeral was surprisingly well-attended, given the unassuming nature of the deceased. On the other hand, he was very old and had accumulated a lot of friends over his lifetime. Argorria was grateful for the hood of her cloak as she watched Master Yoda ignite the funeral pyre. The smoke stung her eyes, which watered in a way suggestive of tears. She did not want to admit that they were indeed tears that were streaming down her cheeks, shed not because she was sad for her master, who was, after all, one with the Force, but for her forlorn self, who missed him terribly already.

She stood close enough to Obi-Wan to feel the warmth of his presence, while Ahoska had a firm grip on her arm. She remembered hearing the story of Qui-Gon’s death and funeral and felt pathetic that she was struggling so much with the peaceful passing of her elderly master, who had had a long and rich life, at least in sobriety. Obi-Wan had been through so much worse, and yet he was there for her, trying to send her waves of calm. Argorria wanted to hug him and kiss him, to feel his bare, living flesh against hers, and to take his warm essence into her body, but she knew that could never be.

It was also his fault that she had not had more time with her master at the end; if he had not made the unilateral decision to pick up Knight Ventress and her padawan, they would have reached Coruscant earlier. It was her mission, not his, and yet he had taken charge and hijacked it. _Typical male behavior_ , she thought as she shook her head slightly. Even though she was irritated with him, she could not get enough of his presence, and almost hated herself for wanting more.

After the funeral Argorria was granted ninety days off of active duty to grieve and to give Ahsoka time to focus on her studies. She was not quite ready for Ilum and still needed to complete some courses from her Initiate days. Argorria was grateful for the respite; although she forced herself to go to the recovery meeting at first to thank her late master’s friends for coming to the funeral, in less than ten days she had stopped going again. It was hard enough to get herself out of bed and to the refectory, never mind the dojo. She certainly could not face her master’s friends.

Meanwhile, Quinlan Vos had returned to Coruscant from whatever he had been doing on Tatooine. Obi-Wan went to meet him at the spaceport, much to the Kiffar master’s surprise.

“Hey, Quin, what’s been going on in the Outer Rim? How is everyone coping with the death of Jabba the Hutt?”

“How did you know about Jabba?”

“I was part of the group of Jedi who killed him.”

Quinlan Vos groaned. “There you go, always causing trouble! And people think I’m the loose cannon. Tatooine is experiencing slave riots now that Jabba’s dead. The Skywalker kid’s family is in the thick of things, of course. Old Cliegg Lars wanted to keep to himself but his wife has been beaming with pride about having a slave-liberating Jedi for a son, and she convinced farmer Lars to open up an underground clinic of sorts, using the slave chip scanner that Anakin developed and finding an unlicensed Twi’lek doctor to perform the chip removal surgeries.”

Obi-Wan smiled mischievously. Anakin would be happy to hear this. The power vacuum left on Tatooine would be a problem, but perhaps now that planet would have a chance to establish some kind of reasonable self-government, with Jedi help if necessary. With Jabba removed, the Trade Federation and corrupt agriworld politicians like Senator Milew of Merisee would find their cushy deals being challenged.

“And you’re going to tell the Council all this, and then get sent right back there, maybe with a few other Jedi. You seem to like Tatooine, unlike my apprentice, so I suppose we did you a favor.”

“As you said, I have to go report to the Council, in the form of Mace Windu. Don’t worry, I’ll give credit where credit is due regarding the mess you made.”

“Any time, Quin, any time. May the Force be with you.” Obi-Wan squeezed his friend’s shoulder before letting him go. Obi-Wan had been on his way to a recovery meeting when he stopped by the spaceport. He was leading the meeting for the first time.

There was no Argorria again today. Obi-Wan was concerned about her, but it was up to her how she managed her sobriety. He reminded himself to focus on his own recovery. It was almost a year now, but as Master Dooku always reminded him, he was never truly safe, and would have to stay vigilant for the rest of his life.

Obi-Wan met Anakin afterward in the dojo, where he found Alema and Ahsoka waiting for them. _Great, now I’m training three padawans_. Alema beamed when she spotted him. “My master is still not allowed in the dojo because of the blaster wound in her shoulder. She hates the Halls of Healing but not as much as you do. She doesn’t blame you for her imprisonment there, because she did need medical attention, but she told me to have you make it up to us by working on my Soresu.”

“She’s letting me off lightly, I see. And you, Ahsoka, where’s your master?”

“I think she’s in our apartment. She’s still so sad about her master that she won’t eat or go out. I’m worried about her.”

Obi-Wan debated with himself whether he should go visit her, but decided that she might get the wrong idea. He had noticed the way she looked at him with longing, the way Siri did when they were both still padawans. In her grief she could easily confuse his friendly concern for romantic interest and act rashly. If that happened he would not want to risk being put into a situation in which his animal instincts might take over. He could not deflect such attention by telling her about his commitment to Satine, either.

Working with three padawans at once was taxing, an opinion shared by Master Fisto, who ambled over to Obi-Wan’s salle. “Since when have you been made sabermaster?” He was flashing that irresistible smile of his, the one that graced his lips whenever he won a battle. Being killed by Master Fisto’s lightsaber was probably not a pleasant experience, but gazing upon that smile as one breathed one’s last would certainly go some way toward mitigating the trauma.

Master Fisto began working with Anakin so that Obi-Wan could focus on Alema’s Soresu. At eighteen, almost nineteen, she was fast approaching knighthood. It seemed like only yesterday that she was a worried little girl, afraid that nobody would pick her as a padawan. Actual combat experience had made her less rule-bound in her approach to Jedi life; she reminded Obi-Wan very much of Siri.

In the evening, as he was cooking dinner, Obi-Wan had an idea. Now that he was almost a full year sober and Anakin seemed to have settled into this new reality, perhaps it was time to introduce him to Deltine. He really should have a chance to get to know the crecheling who was practically his sister. Seeing his interaction with Ahsoka, Obi-Wan was fairly certain he would be able to handle a little girl, even if she did happen to be a Kenobi. Her crechemaster had a habit of glaring at Obi-Wan whenever he came to visit her, shaking his head and lamenting that Kenobis were trouble.

“Anakin. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Do you remember when I told you that I have a daughter? Well, she’s Force-sensitive, and she’s in the creche, right here at the Temple. She’s three.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow. He had known of the existence of the girl, but it did not bother him because she was an abstraction; he had assumed that she was on Mandalore with her mother. Having her at the Temple, in a position to vie with him for his master’s attention was another matter entirely. Korkie had never been this kind of a threat to Anakin.

“Really, Master? How did you get away with that?”

“I passed her off as my niece. Master Dooku picked her up, after my mother made the call. She’s supposed to be Goro’s.”

“That girl? That does explain a lot. I did think she looked an awful lot like you. She didn’t look that much like Goro-Ban. Who else knows?”

“Of course Satine does, and Master Dooku knows the truth, and Quinlan Vos. Deltine herself seemed to know that I was her dad when I met her for the first time. I trained her to shield that.”

“I thought you said you had no more secrets from me.”

“I don’t. I told you I had another child besides Korkie.”

“But you didn’t say that child was Deltine. If she’s three, that means when we went to Mandalore—” Anakin’s face turned red. He remembered the feelings of happiness and welfare that had reached him through the training bond, but having incontrovertible proof of exactly what had caused those feelings made things different. The very idea of his master drunkenly getting busy with Satine while Anakin slept in the next room was embarrassing and horrifying. He knew, of course, that such behavior had occurred, since there were two children produced from it, but thinking this as an abstract idea was not the same as being a near-witness to it. Worse, it was exactly what Anakin himself wanted to do with Padme.

“Yes, when we went to Mandalore. Come on, you’re almost seventeen. You know how that works. I was intoxicated and didn’t plan it but I don’t regret it. You’ll understand if and when it happens to you.” Obi-Wan grinned mischievously as Anakin’s face turned even redder.

Seeing little Deltine squeak in delight at the sight of her father was admittedly cute. She came running up to him on her tiny legs, somehow not falling down, and babbled in Mando’a as he scooped her up into his arms, cooing over her in Mando’a. Anakin was reminded of that pickup mission all those years ago, in which they had posed as father and son in a custody battle for a Togruta girl. His little sister.

Obi-Wan turned so that Deltine faced Anakin. “Ori’vod Anakin,” he whispered in her ear. Her face lit up and she reached out for Anakin. He extended his hand to meet hers. He did not speak the language himself but he knew that he had been introduced as “big brother.” Given the focus on family in Mandalorian culture, this was significant. Of course, Deltine Kenobi was officially a Stewjoni Jedi, but his master seemed to be trying to impart something of Satine’s language and culture to the child, just as he had demonstrated the courtship songs for Korkie.

As Anakin received her into his arms, it occurred to him that if he was her big brother in the Mandalorian sense, then his master was claiming him as his son within that cultural tradition as well. He felt his eyes water a little as he held the girl and smiled at her. He could not be jealous of this child or angry at his master as long as those big blue eyes were looking up at him adoringly like that. Seen at close range, Deltine was unmistakably a Kenobi. She looked just like her father. No doubt she would break hearts when she grew up, just like her father.

As they were walking back to their apartment after Deltine had been put to bed, Anakin was thinking about the little girl, wondering how often his master slipped into the creche to see her, when his master turned to him, that mischievous gleam in his eye, and said, “In addition to Senator Organa, I’ve invited Senator Amidala to your lifeday celebration. She seemed very happy to get the invitation to that.”

Anakin was not sure whether he wanted to jump for joy or crawl into the nearest vent in embarrassment. Worse, he could feel his master’s silent chuckle at his discomfort. Why was his master encouraging his crush on Padme? Were not attachments of this kind forbidden?

“As a knight you learn that it’s important to be comfortable with bending the rules and that having friends and allies outside of the Temple is vital.” Obi-Wan was glad to have a chance to impart Qui-Gon’s rules for maverick living. “As long as you stay discreet in your indiscretions and stay mindful of the Unifying Force, I don’t see a problem. It doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you do it correctly.”

Anakin stared in open-mouthed horror at his master. This was heresy, no, it was worse than that. This was treason. Dreaming of Padme was exciting at least in part because it was forbidden; if his master was enthusiastic about arranging the wedding then that took away quite a bit of the fun. It occurred to Anakin that his master was trying to contain the damage, and that his own secret marriage made it impossible for him to come down hard on his padawan. His master had been sixteen when he got married: long before he started drinking. This had been a deliberate, sober decision. In his own quiet way, Obi-Wan Kenobi was just as much of a maverick as Qui-Gon Jinn.

Suddenly Anakin wondered if Master Qui-Gon had ever had a secret lover as well. Obi-Wan smiled at Anakin and said simply, “Yes.” He lowered his mental shields to let Anakin see the memories of Master Tahl making breakfast in the morning, wearing only a dressing gown, and joining Qui-Gon in seeing Obi-Wan and Bant off to class. No wonder Obi-Wan was so close to Bant. She was practically his sister.

“You can’t marry a fellow Jedi and I don’t recommend having a relationship with one.” Obi-Wan then showed Anakin his memories of Master Tahl’s death and how much it affected Qui-Gon, and by extension, Obi-Wan himself. “But it’s wise to have friends in the Senate and allies on the fringes of the Republic. I would recommend getting close to Senator Organa of Alderaan as well, not just as a smokescreen but because he’s a good person and honest politician.”

Anakin’s head was still spinning when he finally retired for the night. He would not have to sneak around with Padme, at least, not as far as his master was concerned. Even if he wanted to marry her, his master could not reasonably oppose this. He clearly approved of Padme anyway.

The difficulty would be convincing Padme herself. Anakin was painfully aware of how awkward he was around her, but he had seen so many women practically throwing themselves at his master over the years that it was just not fair. As a Jedi padawan he would not be able to ask his master for pointers, seeing as romance was forbidden anyway, but also because the man himself seemed completely baffled by the enthusiastic response he often got from the ladies.

He knew that his master had also had a chaste, almost-relationship with Master Tachi as a padawan even younger than Anakin was now, and was already married to the beautiful and brave Duchess of Mandalore by the time he was Anakin’s age, so it was not a matter of his master’s age and experience attracting women. He had been successful with intelligent women even while saddled with the ridiculous padawan haircut, with a hair color generally seen as less than desirable on a man, and he was shorter than Anakin. Why? Why was life so unfair?

Anakin could not sleep. His eyes opened, glowing yellow. He had to be missing something. Anakin slipped out of his bedroom, sneaked into the living room, opened up the storage compartment under the sofa, and smuggled the albums of images from his master’s past into his bedroom to study.

* * *

Master Dooku frowned at the controls of his ship. He would need some repairs, possibly some replacement parts, for his hyperdrive. It seemed unlikely that he would make it all the way back to Coruscant without some sort of technical support. A quick glance at the navicomputer showed that he was near Stewjon. Ah, Obi-Wan’s home planet. Perfect. Perhaps one of the Kenobi brothers could help.

Master Dooku landed on his grandpadawan’s homeworld and walked, not wanting the hassle of renting a speeder. Besides, it would be good to stretch his legs. To his relief he had no trouble remembering the route he had taken before to the Kenobi home. Master Dooku rang the doorbell and was greeted by Jeri-Mar Kenobi’s smile.

“Welcome, Master Jedi. I remember you, you said you were Obi’s Jedi granddad. How is Obi? Come in, have a cup of tea. I just put the kettle on.”

Master Dooku gave her his most charming, aristocratic smile, the one that all Counts of Serenno were born with, and nodded as he entered the house. “I have some holos of Obi-Wan, Deltine, and Anakin. Do you hear from the Duchess of Mandalore?”

“Yes, I do.” Mrs. Kenobi’s posture straightened subtly, a sign that she was unsure how much of the truth Master Dooku knew. He smiled.

“It’s quite all right, I know the truth about those children. Obi-Wan trusts me with his secrets. Here, these are the most recent images. He’s teaching Deltine Mando’a as well as Basic.”

She smiled at the mention of her little granddaughter and gasped over the adorable images, then remarked upon Anakin’s growth. Images of Korkie during his first Senate visit with his mother also elicited a smile. Then a hint of sadness flickered across the older woman’s face as she looked at images of Obi-Wan himself. “Then you know—”

“Yes. He’s been sober for almost a year now.”

She began to smile, then the doubts rippled across her face. A lifetime of living around addicts had taught her to be guarded in her hopes. Her husband and his father had tried, actually tried, to “turn over a new leaf,” plenty of times. One was now dead, the other functionally so. Her Goro and even Maul seemed to have a better prognosis with their deathsticks than Obi would with his alcoholism.

“I can see that you don’t dare to hope. I can vouch that he’s not drinking because I’m also his sponsor and he goes to a lot of meetings and has been working the steps with me. I realize that’s not entirely foolproof, but he stands a decent chance of staying sober. I was there when he went through detox, and the misery of that in itself would be a good motivator. He knows his organs will fail if he relapses, too. He’s not stupid.”

Her eyes widened a bit as she reevaluated the distinguished white-haired nobleman in front of her, who sipped his tea silently and admired her décor without gawking. It was hard to imagine him crouching on the floor gibbering the way her husband did. He must have had some of the same experiences as her husband if he was now in a position to sponsor Obi in a recovery group, but this man had escaped intact, perhaps stronger, while her husband had not. This Jedi was clearly of the same generation as herself, perhaps a little older; why had he survived while others dear to her had not?

“How long have you been sober?” If he was to be entrusted with guarding Obi’s recovery he had better know what he was doing. She would not take kindly to anyone who failed her boy in life-threatening ways.

“I just celebrated twenty-eight years. Obi-Wan presented my cake at our home group meeting. I’ve seen a lot of people come and go over the years, and I like to think I can spot early warning signs of relapse by now. I would notice if Obi-Wan started regressing in his recovery.”

“I hope so. Even though I gave him up as a toddler he’s still my baby boy. If anything happens to him, I’m not sure how I’m going to live with that.”

Master Dooku knew better than to recite the Jedi Code to Mrs. Kenobi. He did not have to, as Goro-Ban came in with Maul, laughing and joking. Maul stopped in his tracks and stiffened. Even though he was no longer truly a Sith, he still reacted with alarm to the presence of Jedi. He turned, slowly, and regarded Master Dooku. He was tired, having come off the night shift as a hospital technician and having gone straight to a recovery meeting with Goro-Ban afterwards. The old Sith conditioning had come out without his conscious control.

“Ah, boys. This is Obi’s Jedi granddad, Master…?”

“Dooku. I believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Goro-Ban before.”

Goro-Ban nodded. He remembered having seen this man before when his little niece was taken to the Jedi Temple. Goro-Ban was not terribly Force-sensitive but he did have an ability to read people, at least, as long as he stayed clean. He knew he could trust this man, not because he was completely pure and blameless but because he had been to the brink and come back, making him kinder and softer towards other people.

“And the other one is Maul. I don’t think you met him.” Mrs. Kenobi’s proud smile as she introduced the Zabrak man indicated that she saw him as her son as well.

Master Dooku knew a former Sith when he saw one, but he also had the grace and life experience to refrain from making a snap judgement about the young man. He merely smiled at him and sent a wave of reassurance and goodwill through the Force. He knew what it was to return from a dalliance with the Dark Side, after all, and his years as Asajj Ventress’ master had given him a soft spot when it came to young Zabraks.

Maul came closer, since it was only polite. He was already living as a Kenobi. There was no reason to fear this elderly Jedi who had been introduced as Obi-Wan’s grand-master. Maul did not carry his red lightsaber with him nearly as much as he once did, and the last time he ignited it, the color had shifted a bit closer to purple. He did still fear his Sith master, though. Maul went as far as smiling politely and even extending his hand toward the Jedi master, something that he would have considered anathema in the past.

As soon as their hands touched a frisson of connection, of understanding, spread both directions as they exchanged memories, despite having their mental shields in place. Master Dooku saw the years of hatred towards Obi-Wan, followed by a more recent period of ambivalence towards him, along with Maul’s brutal upbringing and struggles with addiction, while Maul saw Master Dooku’s brush with the Dark Side and years in recovery, including his sponsorship of Obi-Wan. Maul had not known the details of his nemesis-turned-adopted-brother and his own addiction recovery; his eyes grew wide when he saw that Obi-Wan was not so different from himself. He realized that he had mostly forgiven the ginger Jedi already, and felt his eyes grow warm and moist. He had wasted too much time on hating the man.

“You need help with your ship. I can give Dori-Zan a call and he’ll help you.” Maul’s words were practical and neutral, but their true meaning was not lost on Master Dooku, who patted the young red-skinned man’s shoulder and muttered his thanks.

“Hey, I can give you a ride. My next job is in that direction. Maul needs his beauty sleep and we don’t want him operating a speeder after he gets off from the night shift, so I pick him up and we go to our meeting together.” Goro-Ban was obviously proud of his pigeon.

“Thank you. I would appreciate that. What sort of job are you going to?”

“I’m a plumber. It’s dirty and disgusting work sometimes, but well-paid. I’m just grateful to have learned an honest trade. We insisted that Maul get a proper job, too, as part of his recovery.”

Master Dooku smiled. Obi-Wan was lucky to come from a family like this, and to have encountered them again legitimately, on a mission. Seeing former Sith apprentice Darth Maul making an honest living as Maul Kenobi was strange but satisfying. It was important to remember that he had been trained as a Sith from earliest childhood, a lot like the Jedi, and that none of this was his own decision. He had decided as an adult to abandon his Sithly ways; given what Master Dooku had seen of the young man’s memories, he deserved a chance to be happy.

* * *

Obi-Wan sat up in bed with a start. Oh, dear. How had he missed this possibility? He had felt a bit of a disturbance in the Force early in the morning, but it had dissipated; now he was seeing a possible cause. The hooded figure of Darth Sidious in his dream had been punishing Jango Fett with Force-lightning and refusing to pay for a botched attempt on Master Dooku’s life. In the absence of a new Sith apprentice to train, perhaps the master was resorting to using mercenaries. Obi-Wan knew that his grand-master was on a mission. He probed along his training bond with his sponsor and satisfied himself that he had survived whatever it was that Obi-Wan had felt.

As he sat up in bed, his mind drifted to his worries about another person dear to him. He wondered if it was wise to encourage Anakin’s friendship with Senator Amidala, since the boy clearly had a crush on her, but she was older and more disciplined than Anakin, and generally a good influence. He needed a mother figure, really, but an older sister would be better than nothing. As an individual, Senator Amidala was astute without being jaded, a trustworthy ally in the Senate, and exactly the sort of female friend Anakin needed, since a Jedi had to be able to work with anyone, regardless of physical attraction. Anakin needed to learn this, get his puppy love out of his system. Denying them time together would certainly backfire.

On the other hand, Obi-Wan had wound up marrying Satine instead of building up immunity to badass beautiful blondes. The decision to marry her so young was questionable, to be honest, but he now had a responsibility to keep the promises he had made, especially with children involved. Before that night when Deltine came into existence, he had largely thought of Satine as a play-pretend wife from his childhood, but finding out about his offspring had made him more serious in his commitment to her.

Obi-Wan wondered if he had truly been more mature at sixteen than Anakin was now, or if his teenage hormones had combined with his insecurities about his place in the Order and in Qui-Gon’s heart to drive him into the arms of the first non-Jedi woman who had treated him with any respect. He had felt neglected and unwanted after Bandomeer and a dozen other disastrous missions, to the point where he had felt threatened by Qui-Gon’s plants. Had he done the same thing to Anakin? As much as Anakin was hurt by not having his mother, he also needed a father. Qui-Gon would have been better for that, since he was older. Obi-Wan himself had been ill-equipped at the time to go beyond a brotherly role. Was he finally being the father that his children, including Anakin, needed?

The next day, Obi-Wan was working with Ahoska and Anakin in the dojo again. There was no sign of Argorria anywhere. This was worrisome, but Ahoska was already learning to put a brave face on it. That is, until a flash of nausea and pain clouded her generally gung-ho expression. Obi-Wan instinctively knew that he was not the adult she needed the most at this moment. Argorria should have been there, but that could not be helped. Obi-Wan took leadership of the situation yet again.

“Anakin, see if you can find Asajj, Bant, or Siri, or, well, any woman, really.”

“I’m fine, Master Kenobi.” Ahsoka was clutching her abdomen now, clearly not fine at all. He had sensed that she needed a woman at her side, but Ahsoka herself had not picked up on that. In a few years, when Deltine got to be this age, she would not have her mother with her to help navigate the tricky transition from little girl to adult woman; it was up to Obi-Wan as her father to ensure that she got a decent master, preferably himself, and whatever other support she needed, especially from adult women. The least he could do for Ahsoka was to treat her the way he hoped his own daughter would be treated.

Within minutes Asajj Ventress came into view, dragged by the wrist by Anakin. She took one look at the young padawan so clearly in pain and announced, “Off to the fresher. I think I know what’s going on here. Don’t worry, Ahsoka, you’re not going to die. It just feels like it sometimes.”

Asajj Ventress was silently impressed that Obi-Wan had known to get a female knight to handle this; her own first master, bless his dear departed soul, had been completely unprepared to handle the onset of puberty in his female padawan.

Once they were in the privacy of the women’s fresher, Asajj Ventress was vindicated. “Here, use this. I’m always prepared for this situation, because as a woman I have to be. I’m assuming this is your first time.”

“Yes. I thought I was dying.”

“No, you’re not dying. You’ll get used to it. You better, because this goes on every twenty-eight days or so for decades at a time. If you’re ever caught unprepared in the future, you can usually ask any other woman for help. We’ve all been through this. I know you probably feel like you got stepped on by a herd of banthas, but congratulations, you’re another step closer to womanhood.”

Asajj Ventress had to wonder how Obi-Wan knew that Ahsoka’s troubles were gynecological in nature. Though she had not had the pleasure of meeting Qui-Gon Jinn, she knew that by all accounts he was a human male, and thus theoretically not directly acquainted with this sort of thing. Obi-Wan had never raised a female padawan before, and it seemed unlikely that his old creche buddies would share this. It was only in the last few years that he had gotten to know his birth mother, and all of his biological siblings were males. Had he had a lot of young, female mission partners? But he had taken on Anakin almost on the same day as his own knighting. It was as if he had lived with a woman. A strange problem this is, as Master Yoda would say.


	42. Anakin’s Lifeday Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheev ups the skeev factor. Anakin thinks eating bugs with his salad will impress a certain senator. Senator Organa hatches a plan.

Obi-Wan could not believe his eyes. Anakin’s room was unrecognizable: a whole strip of bare floor was visible and the bed was free of clothes. The droid parts were still everywhere, but now the room looked more like a workshop that included a tidy living area and less like the aftermath of a Tatooine sandstorm. The threat of a visit from Padme had turned out to be even more potent than even Obi-Wan had imagined. Perhaps this could be the first of many invitations. If Anakin were to live with Padme, how long would he last in keeping up his best behavior? Then again, Obi-Wan himself had not actually lived with Satine under civilized conditions for any length of time. Comming her every day, several times a day, and a youth spent together as fugitives hiding in caves were not quite the same as living together under normal peacetime conditions as a married couple.

A man would do all manner of bizarre things if he thought it would help him impress a woman. Obi-Wan thought back on his own teenage romance with Satine, especially the songs, the dances, and language learning, not to mention the small matter of guarding her with his life, as the lengths he had gone in order to earn that muddy kiss in a dark cave. It was good for a man to choose a woman who was not easily impressed. Anakin had it easy. Obi-Wan shook his head in amusement at himself: the sentiment was that of an old man, wizened far beyond Obi-Wan’s thirty-two years. On the other hand, he had now spent exactly half of his life as Satine’s husband.

Naturally Padme was not the only guest at Anakin’s lifeday party. This time Master Dooku came, obviously in one piece. “Skyguy! Happy lifeday!” Ahsoka came by herself, even though her master had been invited as well. Bant, Garen, and even Siri came, although Asajj Ventress and Alema were away on a mission. Now that Alema Han was nineteen, the master-padawan pair seemed to be assigned to almost every mission in the galaxy requiring Jedi. Nobody had any clue where Quinlan Vos was.

Obi-Wan did his best to smile warmly when the party-crashers arrived. Master Windu was tolerable, in the sense that he knew he had not been invited, but he still had the air of a disapproving inspector general. Master Yoda enjoyed parties because of the opportunities they provided for tripping people—not entirely by accident—with his gimmer stick and watching the humorous mayhem this caused. He also made frivolous use of the Force to float altogether too many of Senator Organa’s Alderaanian cakes from the table to himself, which Obi-Wan supposed was all right, because he did not want Anakin gorging himself on them. Master Yoda also enjoyed teasing his old padawan, regaling Ahsoka with less-than-flattering tales of Master Dooku’s padawan days. Master Dooku himself clenched every clenchable part of his anatomy and plastered his long-suffering but fiercely determined, haughty diplomatic smile on his face. The ancient master loved to put his old padawans in their place, and there was no alternative but to grin and bear it. Ahsoka seemed to love this as much as Master Yoda did.

Perhaps because there were two senators present, the Supreme Chancellor of all people decided to show up as well. He smiled benevolently at the tidy apartment, as if to express his approval of Obi-Wan’s neat-freak ways. The Supreme Chancellor made a show of patting Obi-Wan on the shoulder and Anakin on the head several times. Obi-Wan felt a bit guilty at having neglected to add the Supreme Chancellor to the guest list, given their past friendship, but this was Anakin’s day.

“I’ve brought a gift for young Padawan Skywalker. It may be too early in your estimation to give it to him, but I can assure you it’s quite valuable. Such a special young man deserves the best, don’t you agree?” Sheev Palpatine pulled out a bottle of very expensive Stewjoni whisky whose label identified it as being seventeen years old—the same vintage as Anakin himself. Obi-Wan urged Anakin to accept the gift graciously, since one did not turn down the most powerful man in the Republic. They would decide later what to do with it. It occurred to Obi-Wan that the only people at the party who would not know that Obi-Wan was in recovery were Senator Organa and the Supreme Chancellor himself. Put like that, it was hardly a secret.

Obi-Wan watched as the Supreme Chancellor spent a fair amount of time and effort trying to get to know Anakin, now that he was old enough to be an interesting conversational partner. Anakin, for his part, had one eye on Padme at all times. Master Yoda had a mischievous gleam in his eye, while Master Dooku’s stoic Jedi mask never slipped. Senator Organa took in the scene with veiled interest, his bright mind working out the political climate in the apartment, while his warm heart contributed a good deal to the fun party atmosphere. Bant and Siri showed a considerable enthusiasm in engaging him in conversation. The man was attractive, charming, and good-hearted, after all. Garen stood between Obi-Wan and Master Windu, munching the finger food that Obi-Wan had made for the party. Padme drifted gracefully from group to group, already a seasoned politician.

“I shall be following your career with great interest. There was once another young man in my circle who showed great promise, but he decided against using his considerable talents to make a difference in the galaxy and retired to an ordinary life, as far as I can tell. I lost contact with him, but I believe he is now twenty-nine. But I understand that you are very civically-minded.” Senator Palpatine was smiling at Anakin as he sipped the tea that Obi-Wan had chosen for the occasion. It was, all things considered, quite a tame party in terms of refreshments as far as lifeday celebrations for teenage padawans went.

“I can understand the desire for a normal life. There is no shame in it.” Padme injected herself into the conversation. “I haven’t made that choice myself, but I can respect it when someone else does.”

“He was truly special—very much like young Padawan Skywalker here. A young Zabrak. It’s a pity.” Sheev Palpatine shook his head sadly.

Obi-Wan tried not to stiffen as he heard the description of a man who sounded suspiciously like Darth Maul. He had had his suspicions about the Supreme Chancellor, but this was further evidence. A quick glance at Master Dooku showed that the latter had had the same thought. He had also met Maul and heard the details of his life, some of them from Maul himself.

The Supreme Chancellor seemed to notice Garen abruptly, as his eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. He must have met him at least once before, since he had presented him with a bottle of rum upon his knighting, but senators and chancellors met so many people in their line of work that nobody could fault him for struggling to place the olive-skinned Jedi knight with fierce but friendly dark eyes and a black crewcut very similar to the one worn by another man of his acquaintance.

All of this was lost on young Ahsoka, who helped herself to the food and cakes with gusto. She was a growing girl, and in the part of her cycle in which she had a sweet tooth. Bant and Siri smiled at each other. Ahsoka was still young enough to take an innocent sensual pleasure in nourishing her body with food and stretching it to its limits, without worrying about her figure or what boys thought, although as Jedi, they were less affected by the expectation of delicate beauty than civilian women on many planets. It would not be long until Ahsoka reached and passed the border from childhood to the very early stages of womanhood.

Obi-Wan was glad at a semi-conscious level that nobody was looking at Ahsoka in an inappropriate way. There was no rational explanation for why he felt so protective of the young Togruta girl who was neither his padawan nor his daughter, but somehow the Force told him that she was at least partially his concern. He had kept the waste bin and extra supplies in the fresher even after Master Tahl’s death, at first out of sentimentality, and then because he had learned from Satine what it was for; Qui-Gon never objected, since housework and décor had always been Obi-Wan’s responsibility. After Obi-Wan had moved into the master bedroom in his capacity as Anakin’s master, he had kept the fresher the same, and now he was glad because the apartment would be ready to accommodate young Ahsoka overnight anytime if the need arose for any reason.

Padme introduced herself to Ahsoka and the two young women were soon laughing together. Obi-Wan realized, watching them, that Padme was the second-youngest woman in the room, at twenty-two, although she seemed much older and more mature. She was ageless really, equally at home in any context and with anyone. At least Anakin had good taste. Padme was not unlike Satine in many ways.

Once the Supreme Chancellor left for his next engagement, Anakin circled back to Padme and offered to show her his droids. This meant going into his bedroom, but he kept the door open as he led her inside. Padme seemed much more thrilled by this than Obi-Wan would have expected, until he caught a glimpse of Anakin’s memory of the day the two had met back on Tatooine. No wonder Padme was excited—she shared Anakin’s good memories of meeting the protocol droid he had built.

Obi-Wan was caught completely unprepared for the whack to the back of his knees from a gimmer stick. “Brood you do, even at a party. Neglect your guests you must not. Insufficient the cakes were.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll bring out the rest of the food from the kitchen. You’re right that there isn’t much left.”

Senator Organa noticed Obi-Wan going into the kitchen. He waited for a break in the conversation to follow him there, intending to offer his services. “Would you like some help carrying those trays?”

“I’m afraid it’s improper of me as a host to cause my guests to worry so much about the food supply as to check up on me in here, but I appreciate the spirit of your offer. If it’s not too much bother, you could take in the second plate of salad. Thank you so much for coming to my padawan’s lifeday party.”

Senator Bail Prestor Organa flashed a smile whose charm could easily hold its own against Obi-Wan’s in a duel of the dimples. He picked up the plate to carry it in, then noticed a likely unintentional protein source clinging to a leaf. “I see that the vegetables are organic. Anakin is a lucky boy.”

Obi-Wan peered into the salad to determine what it was that had tipped off his friend to the provenance of the leafy greens in the salad. Aha, there it was. Obi-Wan did not like insects very much, but Anakin did, so he decided to tolerate it with a long-suffering smile. “Anakin won’t mind that, in fact, he likes to eat insects on purpose when we’re on missions just to bother me.”

Senator Organa laughed, crinkling the skin around his eyes in the same warm, friendly way that Obi-Wan himself did. “That sounds like a teenage boy from the Outer Rim, all right. We could use some more hearty teenage boys on Alderaan. Our working population is declining.”

“Is that so?” Obi-Wan did not even think before he found himself saying, “There are millions of teenage boys, all clones, growing on Kamino. They seem to have been commissioned by the Trade Federation as an army, and are all copies of a Mandalorian bounty hunter. The Duchess of Mandalore has not been able to make them Mandalorian citizens, but of course they are sentient beings and not the property of the Trade Federation. They are to be delivered to Merisee under the current arrangement. We in the Jedi Order are not sure what we’re going to do with them when they reach maturity and need to be made citizens of somewhere.”

Senator Organa raised an eyebrow. Obi-Wan put down the dish he was about to carry into the living room, fished out his datapad from the folds of his tunic, and pulled up the images of the young clones. Although Jango Fett was not a nice man, that was not the fault of his clones, who were minors. He saw Senator Organa’s eyes register shock, followed by sadness and righteous anger.

“Well, anyway, I suppose we should get back to the living room.” Satisfied at the seed he had planted in the other’s mind, Obi-Wan gently nudged them both back to the present. Senator Organa made for the living room first.

Obi-Wan did not see Master Yoda enter the kitchen area; neither did Senator Organa, who nearly tripped on the ancient green master on his way out. When the two Jedi were alone in the kitchen, Master Yoda raised his gimmer stick and made as if he was going to strike Obi-Wan remotely. “Why hide you from your guests, hmm? Many things you still hide. Revealed in good time they should be.”

Obi-Wan could merely nod. The look in those huge, bulging green eyes told him that Master Yoda was sympathetic. There was something else gleaming in those eyes. “Distrust one of your uninvited guests you do.”

“Yes, I know he means well. But I had to face him.”

“Worry about the bottle you must not. Confiscated by Master Windu it will be.” Master Yoda’s ears twitched mischievously. It was reassuring to have Master Yoda understand like this. The ancient master clucked.

When he came out with a tray of little bites, Anakin and Padme had emerged from Anakin’s room and the boy was trying to impress her by eating the insects he found in the salad. The boy had often refused to eat his vegetables when he was younger, but apparently adding creepy-crawlies was an effective way to get him to eat salad in impressive quantities. Obi-Wan heard Ahsoka’s voice, which was just a bit too loud for a whisper, making comments to Bant and Siri. “Skyguy thinks it’s cool to be gross, but it’s not!”

“Boys go through a phase like that. Some more than others, and some longer than others.” Bant glared at Garen.

“What? What did I do? Obi was just as bad.”

“No, he wasn’t!” Siri was a little too passionate in her defense, causing Bant and Garen to smirk. Ahsoka’s eyes went wide as she guessed the truth: Siri had been the girl impressed by Master Obi-Wan’s teenage antics.

Senator Organa merely rubbed his nose and moved in closer to Master Windu, who had noticed a picture on the wall. It was a watercolor portrait of a middle-aged man with long brown hair pulled away from his face. Closer examination revealed the artist’s initials in a corner: OWK. “That’s a nice picture.”

“It captures his essence well. Did you know Master Qui-Gon Jinn? He was my first friend from the creche and was Obi-Wan’s master.”

“No, I don’t believe I had the pleasure.”

“We don’t form attachments, but that doesn’t mean we forget our dearly departed. Visual reminders of our masters and teachers are not frowned upon, because they also remind us of their wisdom and instruction. Obi-Wan illustrated some of the textbooks we use for our padawans. We’ve also used his forensic drawings in investigations. No skill is too frivolous or useless for a Jedi, because we never know what we will need.” This was as close to praise from Master Windu as Obi-Wan was going to get, so he tried not to draw attention to himself as he moved a bit closer. If Master Windu noticed him listening, the spell would be broken. Master Dooku was also listening, just a hint of pride leaking from the outside corners of his eyes and lips.

Obi-Wan next turned his attention to Anakin. He was telling Padme the story of one of their missions, not embellishing the tale, but not being modest, either. Obi-Wan sighed. Bragging and boasting were not the Jedi way, especially not if they were being used as tactics to woo a potential lover.

“And then we had to shoot off the monnoks with their spears in order to save the boy. Monnoks are just animals, only semi-sentient, but they’re dangerous. They’re not cute, either, with their red skin, funny eyes, bipedal bodies, and large feet designed for stomping around in the desert. Socorro is crawling with them, as well as doonium ore miners. I tell you all mining companies are evil. Anyway, he was a cute, self-possessed little boy, only four years old but with a fashionable flair. That’s probably why he was taken for ransom. He gave as well as he got, outsmarting some of his captors. I swear he’ll be a natural at Sabacc someday.”

“What was his name?” Padme expressed interest in any child in distress. It was part of what made her a good senator and a good person, but the implications for Anakin were not so good. She had encountered him as just such a specimen, after all. Now that he was nearly grown and doing well as a Jedi padawan, perhaps she no longer saw him as a pathetic lifeform.

“He said his full name was Landonis Balthazar Calrissian, but that’s a mouthful, so he goes by Lando. He told me he wanted to be a pilot or a pirate when he grew up, preferably both.”

Padme laughed. “He sounds a lot like you when I first met you. But then, you won the Boonta Eve Classic and helped save my planet immediately afterwards. You weren’t kidding.”

 _Good save, Padme_. Obi-Wan did not need to see Anakin’s face to know that the boy’s expression had clouded over when he was compared to a child he had rescued. It was not that he thought himself better than the boy, who was not Force-sensitive, but more that he needed Padme to see him as a peer, a grown man, rather than a little boy. Obi-Wan had never had that problem with Satine because they were the same age.

The light in Padme’s eyes made it clear that she was enjoying Anakin’s company, truly enjoying it, and not just faking it as a senator. She threw her dark curls back and laughed with abandon when Anakin told inane jokes, reveling in being just plain Padme Naberrie, a young woman of twenty-two, instead of being a queen or a senator. Anakin’s overwhelming passion for saving the weak, particularly slaves or children in danger like he had been, would be attractive to her. He had a good heart still largely untouched by cynicism.

“Telling the Senator about your juicier missions, eh?” Garen put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and grinned at Padme. “This one is good at making his missions even juicier, I bet. He can’t help it, he comes from a disaster of a lineage.”

“Hey!” Anakin swatted the hand playfully. It was true, after all. Anakin was the proud culmination of decades’ worth of heretic Jedi and their crazy missions. He would expect no less from his own padawan someday.

“The reality of many missions is a bit sordid, you know. Helping Wookiees on Kashyyyk was fun, and I made a good friend, but I picked up a bad case of headlice from him. Cost me my long hair.”

Anakin chuckled at the memory. “Oh yes. What was his name, this friend who’s responsible for my master insisting on you getting a makeover?”

“Chewbacca. He’s a great pilot, but he cheats at dejarik. One of the rules of that game is to always let the Wookiee win, so I couldn’t say anything.”

After all of the guests had left, Obi-Wan found himself doing the lion’s share of the cleanup—again. He did not mind, but it was a little worrisome. Anakin was great at making a mess, but he had not learned how to clean up his messes. Qui-Gon had been similar, which was why Obi-Wan had learned both how to make a mess and how to clean it up afterwards. It was clear to him that Anakin was serious about Padme in that intense, teenaged way that felt like true love at the time. Perhaps it _was_ true love, if such a thing existed. As Jedi they were supposed to be blandly benevolent to everyone, not passionately attached to just a few people. Anakin had always struggled with that part, but then, so had Obi-Wan. He did not know whether his relationship with Satine was “true love,” but it did not matter. They just _were_. He could not reasonably bar Anakin from pursing a relationship with Padme, but he could impart a sense of responsibility and discretion. Once a man made that kind of commitment to a woman, she would not let him go lightly, and if there were children produced, that added a whole new layer of accountability that no teenager was ever truly prepared for. Was Anakin prepared to take the consequences, whatever they were, for his love?

Alone at night in his bedroom, Obi-Wan opened his sketchbook, which he kept by his bedside, and flipped to his favorite drawing of Satine. “Am I doing right by that boy? How does one bring up a teenager? He’s like I was, but totally different.”

Obi-Wan flipped some more through his sketchbook until he found an empty page. He began to sketch in Satine, with Korkie and Anakin sitting in front. Obi-Wan decided to leave the faces blank, so as not to incriminate himself, but he knew which was which. Having always struggled with self-portraits, blank faces would allow him to add himself to the picture, holding little Deltine. There was still room in the picture for other figures. He did not go out of his way to show his drawings to people, but whenever someone did see his few attempts at self-portraiture, he was always told that the face looked nothing like him. The person who pointed this out was usually Bant.

Obi-Wan woke up in the middle of the night, aware of Anakin’s nightmare. He had seen flashes of it through their bond, mostly glimpses of Padme’s face contorted in pain and horror, screaming in anguish. In one such shot he saw that Padme was lying down, her belly large and protruding. Ah, complications from childbirth. Perhaps Anakin had heard stories of his mother struggling as a teenage slave mother on Tatooine, but Padme was a senator from a developed planet like Naboo. If she needed medical assistance, she would get it, and then use the experience to champion the right of disadvantaged sentients across the galaxy to get proper gynecological care.

He got out of bed and stopped in front of Anakin’s door. The boy had turned seventeen today and probably did not want his master barging into his room to comfort him like a youngling, but sensing his master’s presence outside his door seemed to help. What a difference a year made; Anakin’s sixteenth lifeday had been terrible, the day of Obi-Wan’s rock bottom. Obi-Wan himself had had plenty of these nightmares as a padawan and again as a drunk. At Anakin’s current age, just feeling Qui-Gon’s presence had been enough, although Obi-Wan went further with Anakin by letting himself into the boy’s mind if the shields were low enough.

The hooded figure of Darth Sidious was laughing as Padme screamed. He raised his arms for the Force-lightning move Obi-Wan had seen in his own nightmares, then Padme’s hands flew to her throat. A Force-choke. Raucous, mocking laughter resounded in the dream as the chained Krayt dragon struggled to break free. Obi-Wan noticed a moat around the dragon. The water was a clear dark brown and smelled funny, because it was not water at all, but whiskey. A little human boy began to cry in the thicket, hiding his caramel face in a swooshy cape. Darth Sidious’ voice boomed in the dreamscape: “Pathetic lifeform. Pathetic lifeform. Pathetic lifeform. Patheticlifeform. Patheticlifeform. Patheticlifeformpatheticlifeform!”

The notion of the Supreme Chancellor not only knowing where they lived, but being able to let himself into the apartment at will gnawed at Obi-Wan. Senator Organa was welcome to come any time, and of course Obi-Wan would prefer that Padme came to the apartment so that she and Anakin could do what teenaged lovebirds did under his supervision, rather than having them sneak all over Coruscant, but he did not like the idea of the Supreme Chancellor feeling free to turn up whenever he felt like it and plant bottles around the apartment. He was supposed to be the most powerful man in the galaxy; he was not likely to have lots of free time to drop in on individual Jedi, and yet he had done just that.


	43. Return to Tatooine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asajj Ventress becomes a Master when her padawan is knighted. Master Yoda knows more about Obi-Wan than he lets on. Padme does not travel light.

“Master, can I talk with you?” Asajj Ventress knew she would find Master Dooku in the Temple gardens.

“Of course, padawan. What is it?”

“We just got back from a mission to Devaron. I’m glad the Council sent us and not poor Obi-Wan. We were supposed to convince them to uphold the agreement they signed during his mission there, but they brought their pirate buddies so the negotiations turned aggressive. Alema took out the pirate leaders but she also was the one who reasoned with the president about going back to diplomacy. I’m so proud of her. I think she’s ready to be knighted, but she’s still only just twenty. Am I letting my attachment to her cloud my judgement, or do you think I’m right in recommending her for her trials?”

“Can I see?”

“Oh, of course.” Asajj Ventress let down her mental shields enough to replay the memory of her mission for her old master, who accessed the images through the remains of their old training bond. He realized that Asajj herself had been older when she was knighted because of her unusual background and the trauma of Master Narec’s death in her arms. Obi-Wan had been almost too old when he was finally knighted, while Qui-Gon had been a little too young. Timing was difficult. All things considered, Alema was mature enough and skilled enough. She had chosen Soresu as her specialty, but was more than proficient in some of the more aggressive styles.

“I agree that she’s ready. I can endorse her to the Council as a second witness if it comes to that.”

“Thank you, Master.”

* * *

That meddlesome old man had to go. Why couldn’t Yan Dooku retire to his castle on Serenno, or, better yet, die? Darth Sidious was almost certain that the elderly master was responsible for Kenobi’s continued commitment to sobriety. Skywalker was young and had not yet developed any addictions, so he was a natural recipient of a bottle of whisky that was actually intended for Kenobi. Fett would have to do better next time at eliminating Dooku once and for all.

Dooku had failed to eliminate himself so many times in the past. He certainly put on an impressive show as a drunk, too impressive, in fact, so that he was too out-of-it to turn consciously. That was when Darth Sidious had learned from his master how to infiltrate a Jedi’s mind. Dooku had rather helpfully developed a case of depression when Jinn, his most successful padawan, cut off contact, but had then confounded the Sith cause by starting an alcoholic recovery group right inside the Jedi Temple. Now he had infected the true Chosen One as well.

* * *

Obi-Wan sat cross-legged under Qui-Gon’s favorite tree in the gardens, minding his own business, when he was unceremoniously whacked over the head by someone who was perfectly camouflaged in the tree. There was no mistaking that gimmer stick. “Brooding meditation is not.”

Obi-Wan controlled the urge to rub his head or make any comments about ambushes from trees. Instead he simply looked up at Master Yoda. “I don’t actually enjoy brooding, you know, Master.”

“Dishonest you were, guilty you still feel. Release this into the Force you must.”

Obi-Wan hung his head down in shame. “I didn’t tell Senator Organa about my drinking, but most of the other people I know have been told. Do I have to announce it to everyone on Coruscant?”

“Discussing your drinking I am not. Tell me you did not before tell Senator Organa about the clones you did. Now a big commotion in the Senate he plans to make. Much important information you still hide.”

It was at this moment that Alema happened by and decided to stop and greet them. Obi-Wan did a doubletake. Her padawan bead braid was gone. Master Yoda smiled at her, obviously privy to the news of her change in status.

“Knight Han. Good to see you it is. Hold a party you did not.”

“No, Master. I decided I didn’t need a knighting party right away. I want to go back to Ilum first and build a new lightsaber with a hilt better suited to Soresu.” She grinned at Obi-Wan, who grinned back. Congratulations to Master Asajj Ventress were in order as well.

After she left, Obi-Wan was visibly more relaxed. Whatever consequences he still had to face from his past actions, he need no longer worry about what would become of Anakin if he were to be expelled again from the Order. Master Ventress had worked enough with Anakin in the past that he would feel all right about transferring Anakin’s apprenticeship to her, and now that her padawan had been knighted, the logistics were more favorable.

“Master. You’re right that there’s still a lot that I haven’t told you. My incriminating secrets date back to my padawan days, long before I started drinking. When I am finally expelled for all my Code violations, I would like Master Ventress to take over Anakin’s training.”

Another whack from the gimmer stick resounded in the garden, earning a chuckle from the trees, who swished their leaves in mirth at the ginger knight’s expense. Obi-Wan glared at them. He had already let go of most of his personal pride when he got sober, but not all of it. It rankled to be laughed at by the kriffing _trees_ , although he was almost sure that Qui-Gon was laughing with them.

“So eager to leave the Order you are when responsibilities you still have. In violation of the Code, you think you are. So sure of your unworthiness you still are.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I’m pretty sure it’s against the Code to have a wife and two biological children, and to be in frequent communication with my birth family. I’ve been married sixteen years, deceiving everyone that whole time.”

Master Yoda harrumphed and raised his gimmer stick threateningly. “Not the only Jedi you are to have such responsibilities. Not legally binding your marriage is. A family unorthodox it is to have, but different is love from attachment. If cloud your judgement they do not, grounds for expulsion they are not.”

“But there is a conflict of interest because my wife is the Duchess of Mandalore and I have a daughter in the creche. I was hoping to take her as my second padawan someday, when Anakin is knighted.”

Another whack. “Knew the identity of your wife I did. A valuable ally, trustworthy and good-hearted she is, not prone to excessive attachment. Chose well you did, and wise you are to honor your commitment to her. But bold you are to think train your own daughter you could. That is the way to attachment. Your second padawan a youngling who needs you will be, but needs you still your first padawan does. In the Force we all must trust, young Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan still did not dare to rub his head. How did Master Dooku survive being padawan to this green troll? If he could not train Deltine himself, perhaps Anakin could. No, he had no right to make the boy promise that. The pressure of knowing that he was training the Chosen One on behalf of his dead master was what had driven Obi-Wan to drink in the first place. That was not Qui-Gon’s fault, of course. He had not planned on being killed by the first Sith to appear in a millennium.

“Thank you, Master.” Even though he had been beaten rather rudely, Obi-Wan actually felt better. He had always thought that the rule against attachment forbade marriage, but if framed in the way that Master Yoda had, then Obi-Wan’s marriage was actually beneficial for grounding him and making him a better Jedi—from a certain point of view. Satine herself discouraged obsessive attachment and had always kept him striving to be a better version of himself, reminding him of the ideals he had dedicated his life to, because she understood that he could only live as a Jedi; it was what had attracted her to him in the first place. Mature partnership with Satine as his wife rather than obsessive longing for a forbidden lover had perhaps helped mitigate the human tendency towards attachment.

* * *

Alema Han landed her ship on Ilum. The last time she had come here was early in her apprenticeship, when she was still getting to know her master. Master Ventress was the strongest, most beautiful and terrifying woman she had ever seen at that point, and Alema knew from the day they met in the creche that she wanted to be a powerful knight like her.

Alema knew from her last experience to land as close to the cave doors as she could and to not spend more time than absolutely necessary outside, especially now that she was alone. Well, maybe alone was not the right word, because there was another ship parked near the entrance. Alema sprinted to the doors and let herself into the cave complex without incident. Sure enough, she could hear voices inside. It sounded like a young girl preparing to build her first lightsaber and her master, just like Alema’s previous experience here had been.

“Master, how will I know which crystals are mine?”

“You’ll know, Ahsoka. Trust the Force.”

Argorria Motigora chuckled, likely in reaction to a pout from her padawan. Alema could not see their faces in the dark and did not want to rush ahead to catch up, given the uneven floor.

“Aren’t you coming, Master?”

“No. It’s traditional for the master to stay in this mediation chamber while the padawan harvests her crystal. I’m here if you need me, but this is primarily your mission, not mine.”

Alema decided it would be impolite not to make her presence known, so she followed Argorria Motigora into the meditation room and smiled at her, asking, “Mind if I join you for a while before I go get my new crystal?”

Argorria opened one eye and nodded in acknowledgement. “Congratulations on your knighthood. I remember coming here for the second time when I had just been knighted, too.”

“Thank you.” Alema settled into a meditation pose and closed her eyes. She felt a twinge of hostility from the older knight but could not guess why. Alema was being careful to stay out of Ahsoka’s way, and had every right to be here. There was something off about the Togruta woman sitting across from her.

It was when Alema was about to get up and go on her own crystal hunt that she got a brief glimpse of the image that was haunting Argorria Motigora as a vision. It was Master Kenobi, completely naked. No wonder the woman was frowning in concentration. She was struggling to suppress her improper thoughts. Alema would be lying to herself if she claimed not to see his beauty, but it was still forbidden. She had made peace with her own inappropriate thoughts and feelings about her master as a junior padawan, but Argorria Motigora was someone’s master and still struggling with this.

Alema remembered when her master talked to her about these feelings that were a natural part of puberty, without shaming her in any way, in spite of being the object of them. Master Ventress seemed to share Master Motigora’s assessment of Master Kenobi’s charms, but she treated it almost like a joke; she certainly did not let it cloud her thinking or obstruct her meditation.

On the other hand, it was not a brand-new knight’s place to judge an older knight with her own padawan. Alema had crouched down in order to descend the tunnel from the meditation chamber back into the main passageway when she saw the other knight’s mental image of a naked Master Kenobi morph into a bottle of fine pale ale. Oh. That made more sense.

Alema remembered her route through the cave without much trouble, including the spots on the floor that were always wet and therefore slippery, as well as stalactites that loomed out of nowhere when one was not properly adjusted to the dark. The large, central room that had once been the temple was as she remembered it, except for the presence of a small Togruta girl who had just plucked her crystals from the cave. She was gazing at them fondly, not paying attention.

Alema saw it before Ahsoka did. Ahsoka stepped into a puddle and was about to fall onto her back, landing onto a stalagmite with a sharp tip. Alema did not think before she broke her fall with the Force. The young girl looked surprised for a moment, until she sensed Alema’s Force presence. Alema held the girl stable for a while as she approached, so that she could help her to her feet. Ahsoka whispered, “I won’t tell my master that you helped me. She’ll be mad.”

Alema nodded and sent the girl on her way, while she moved through the cave to the chamber beyond. She had felt suppressed fear and anger in Ahsoka, not unlike what she had felt from Anakin in the past. There was a lot to meditate on here.

* * *

Master Windu closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who are we sending to Tatooine? We can’t send Skywalker, because it’s his own mother who has requested Jedi assistance. I don’t trust the boy to be impartial. The same goes for his master, for that matter.”

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi nodded his tall head. “It’s not surprising that young Skywalker’s mother would find herself leading a slave revolution on that dustball of a planet, given that Skywalker himself got that temperament from somewhere. I never expected a freed slave woman to take control of a whole planet after Jabba the Hutt was killed on Mimban, but if it were to happen, it would have to be Shmi Skywalker.”

Master Yoda closed his eyes and nodded, his perked-up ears betraying his subtle delight. The problem of what to do about young Skywalker’s mother, not to mention the whole issue of slavery, had long been weighing on him. Now one problem was resolving the other.

“Wisdom she needs. Not an easy planet to rule, Tatooine is. Someone who is familiar with conditions there send we should. The Kenobi-Skywalker pair most appropriate is, with perhaps a senator.”

“And which senator did you have in mind?” Master Koon asked, although he knew the answer already.

“Senator Amidala previous experience with Tatooine and the Skywalker family has. Request her we should.”

Master Windu pinched the top of the bridge of his nose again. The Skywalkers sure knew how to stir up trouble. No wonder Qui-Gon had wanted the boy for his disaster of a lineage. Obi-Wan made things worse, surprisingly. There was nothing else to be done for it; he knew that if he objected, Master Yoda would ask if he had a better suggestion, which he did not.

* * *

When Senator Amidala arrived at the spaceport inside the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan suppressed the urge to click his tongue in displeasure at the number of suitcases she had. This was a fairly short assignment to a dusty backwater. There was no way she would need a large collection of fancy gowns. Satine never required this much luggage, even though she was also a head of state.

“Welcome, Senator Amidala. Thank you for joining us on a joint Jedi-Senate diplomatic mission to Tatooine. Have you been briefed on Provisional Governor Skywalker’s application to join the Republic?” Obi-Wan kept things formal in the spaceport. There would be plenty of time for breaches in etiquette later, once it was just the three of them on the ship and in the deserts of Tatooine, where anything goes.

“Yes. It’s wonderful.” Her smile was dazzling. Little wonder Anakin was so mesmerized by this woman. Although she wore an animal-print long cloak with a hood, Obi-Wan noticed that her outfit underneath it bared her midriff. This was probably not what a peasant woman turned political leader wanted to see her son’s girlfriend wearing, but Obi-Wan was not in a position to tell Padme that.

“Shall we?” Obi-Wan gestured to the ship while Anakin carried two of the suitcases and floated a third with what was arguably a frivolous use of the Force. Obi-Wan shook his head and wondered if he had been this bad in the early days of his disastrous year on Mandalore.

Once on board the ship, Padme took off her cloak, revealing a white two-piece dress with a wrap-top front, billowy embroidered sleeves, and a sparkling buckle marking the front of the skirt, where the waist dipped down to showcase her bellybutton. Her bare midriff was toned, suggesting greater physical prowess than he would have assumed. Her curls were restrained by a silver wire headdress. Of course Anakin was staring at her admiringly. Satine had been beautiful too; perhaps Obi-Wan had stared at her in the same way when they were teenagers. His wife was still beautiful, but he did not stare at her when they were together. She was his friend, confidante, and accomplice in mischief, with ideals that kept him honest, far more than a pretty face or appealing body. Someday Anakin would learn to focus on Padme’s inner beauty, too.

Padme was smiling at Obi-Wan in a slightly star-struck manner. Anakin’s eyes stormed yellow to see this, and Obi-Wan sighed internally. “Let’s go over our mission briefing again.” As the only rational adult in this situation, Obi-Wan took charge of keeping them on track. Once they were all seated, the ship safely in hyperspace, Padme wriggled in her seat, trying to get closer to Anakin, ostensibly to compare whether his briefing was the same as hers.

“The problems facing the new government on Tatooine are: making peace with the Sand People; dealing with hostile nature; shifting the economy away from crime as its primary engine; building a functional society based on freedom and equality for all; and avoiding invasions from Nal Hutta or any other group of rogues who see a power vacuum and not a legitimate leadership structure. At least, that’s how I see it, based on this report. What do you think, Anakin, as a native son?” Obi-Wan naturally drifted into the role of mission leader as the oldest person of the group, but it was not easy to avoid taking on a distinctly school-master tone.

“You forgot the Jawas.”

“Good point. But are they dangerous?”

“No, not really. They respond to money-making opportunities, so as long as they have a favorable business climate, they don’t really care who is in charge.” Anakin still had a hard time imagining that his own mother was now the leader of the whole planet. When he was little he had often wished it were so; now it was.

“What do the Sand People want? Why is it difficult to make peace with them?” Padme thought back to her own little adventure on Tatooine, when she had met Anakin for the first time. Nobody had given her a straight answer to that question even at that time, although, to be fair, she had not been focused on it.

“They’re animals.” Anakin’s eyes flashed yellow again in sheer hatred. This was deeply-ingrained from his childhood, apparently. Obi-Wan had barely met Shmi Skywalker, but she had not seemed the type to encourage blind hatred of an entire species. There must be more to it.

“Care to elaborate?”

“They attack settlers. They kidnap humans and kill them. We don’t know if they eat them or sacrifice them to their gods, but they believe that water is sacred and that all of the water on Tatooine belongs to them. There’s no negotiating with them, Master. They want all of the non-native species off of the planet.”

“I see. A fundamental conflict of interest, centered on water rights. But what if all of the inhabitants of Tatooine were to come up with an agreement about water? Don’t the Sand People have a language?”

Anakin sighed. How could his master be so obtuse? “It would be easier to reason with Jabba.”

“How about other natural resources?” Padme asked. As a career politician she was already thinking several steps ahead of Anakin. Surely there must be some source of wealth on that planet besides moisture farming, bare subsistence, and bounty-hunting. Wealth from natural resources could buy cooperation from the Jawas, at least.

“Krayt dragons? Drunks? Shady characters? Sand? Loads and loads of sand, but that’s not valuable.” Anakin spat. Although they did not often talk about his homeworld, Obi-Wan knew the boy had a complicated love-hate relationship with it.

“Actually, it could be.” Obi-Wan stroked his beard. “As I remember from my own junior padawan coursework, Tatooine used to be covered in oceans and rainforests, before it became a desert. That’s one of the few snippets I remember. My memory isn’t what it used to be, which is my own fault.” He conveyed his regret with a sad little smile that made him feel much older and more wizened that he actually was.

“Salt.” Padme supplied. This was making sense to her.

“No, silicax oxalate.” Understanding dawned on Anakin’s face as he cited the minerals found on the planet. He had not known about the silicax oxalate or the dilarium oil while he was still a child on his homeworld, but he had learned about these resources as a junior padawan—more recently than his master had.

Obi-Wan glanced at his chrono. “Oh, I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes. You two go ahead and brainstorm what advice you want to give to your mother and her council of elders.” Obi-Wan set up his holoprojector and dialed up, projecting himself onto his usual seat next to Master Dooku. Although he had never directly discussed his alcoholism with Padme, it seemed clear that she knew of it.

Anakin wrinkled his nose in embarrassment. Anything that might discourage Padme from her teenage crush on his master should be welcome in theory, but it was still embarrassing to have people know about his shame. His master did not even have the decency to be ashamed of it anymore, at least, not in front of people he knew well. Padme pretended not to be listening to the meeting.

When they finally landed, Padme put her cloak back on and they made their way to the Lars homestead. Last time she had come to Tatooine, Padme had stayed in a more-or-less urban environment, so this was new. Anakin’s heart was racing as he knocked on his mother’s door. Even though he was here on official business, he still felt like an intruder, an unwelcome interloper, a reminder of his mother’s old slave life that she would not welcome.

“Ani? It’s you!” Shmi Skywalker gave him a smile as she clasped his hand. She did not draw him into a hug, but Anakin could feel her controlling her affection. It was reassuring to know that she had enough affection to feel a need to control. The other inhabitants of her home might be less welcoming.

Shmi noticed the rest of her son’s entourage. “I recognize you. You’ve grown up. Padme, wasn’t it?” She extended her hand to the senator who had been a teenaged queen traveling incognito. Padme flashed one of her genuine smiles, not one of the diplomatic ones she usually gave other politicians. Even though she had not spent that much time with Shmi Skywalker, the woman’s quiet dignity had made a lasting impression on her, and Padme saw her as a role model.

“Come in, children.” It was at this point that Shmi noticed Obi-Wan bringing up the rear. Even though he looked the same as he did a year ago, she hardly recognized him. Thin body not quite camouflaged by billowing Jedi robes, tidy ginger beard, short copper hair, blue eyes, adorable dimples, all of this was the same, yet there was a lightness to him that had been absent before. This was the man who had brought up her boy. Shmi realized that he was about the same age as herself, although he looked younger until one got close enough to see the lines around his eyes. Suddenly she felt much better about the fact that her only biological son had been entrusted to this man.

“Welcome, Master Jedi. My home is humble, but whatever I have, I share with you.” She waved Obi-Wan into the round, domed house. There was a table in the middle of the main room, directly under the dome. Cliegg had started to paint the ceiling when they were first married, but real life had interrupted the project. “Owen, can you bring some blue milk for our guests?”

A young man a couple of years older than Anakin emerged from a room off of the main chamber, a distrustful look on his face. His brown hair had grown shaggy and his clothes had been patched many times. “Yes, Mother.” He was not enthusiastic about showing hospitality to his step-brother, but there was no help for it in this situation. Cliegg lurked somewhere in the recesses of the home as well. Though not a hostile man, he preferred to keep to himself. He had not known Anakin directly, although he had certainly heard plenty of stories from Shmi, and now Padme from those stories and another man he did not know had turned up right on his doorstep, as diplomatic emissaries, no less.

Obi-Wan smiled at Owen as he brought the blue milk. The boy was merely feeling protective of his step-mother; there was nothing wrong with that. He had never been a slave, as far as Obi-Wan knew.

“Can I go to Tosche Station for some power converters, now, Mother?”

“Yes, you may. But be careful.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and Owen? Get a haircut while you’re in town.”

They heard grumbling as the young man made his way out to the speeder. Shmi smiled fondly at the doorway from which he had left before turning back to her guests. Padme opened up her datapad and began outlining some of the plans she had thought up for establishing a proper government. The girl did an admirable job of remaining businesslike and respectful, but Obi-Wan could see the giddy nervousness just below the surface at the happy reunion with the mother of the boy she was beginning to see as more than just little Ani from Tatooine.

“You’re suggesting making a peace offering to the Sand People, probably water, before we invite them to join the council. We don’t have a common language, though.”

“Do you still have C-3PO? He ought to be able to communicate with them. I programmed him to speak every known language in the galaxy, after all.” Anakin smiled at the memory of the first protocol droid he had built.

“Yes, I do. Good point.”

The discussions continued for hours, because there were constant interruptions from visitors who wanted Shmi’s directives as the leader of the common folk. Anakin stared in amazement at Kitster, who was tall and muscular now. He had clearly spent many years doing manual labor. When he had spotted his old friend in the market square after the mission to Utapau half a year ago, Anakin had been so focused on evading detection that he had failed to register the changes to the young man’s appearance.

“Ani? Is that you?” Kitster grinned when he recognized Anakin.

“Yes, it’s me. Look at you, you’re much bigger than I remember.”

“Of course I am, I’ve been harvesting silicax oxalate for my master. Well, former master. He’s dead now, killed by a bounty hunter. Apparently he relied on Jabba’s protection to keep his enemies at bay.”

He looked up at Obi-Wan. “And this must be your Jedi dad. Nice to meet you, I’m Kitster.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Obi-Wan thought it best to just give his name and drop the titles as he extended his hand. The word “master” was fraught on this planet.

“I think you should join us on any negotiations with Sand People.” Shmi addressed Obi-Wan directly. Even if this man did not speak the language of the Tusken raiders, those dimples should definitely help. Obi-Wan smiled again, confirming Shmi’s assessment of the power of his charm. This might work on the Jawas as well, since they were not so bright.

In the evening Owen returned from Tosche Station with the power converters and much shorter hair. Given his earlier grumbling, this obedience to his step-mother seemed surprising until Obi-Wan heard the young man mutter, “Beautiful Beru…” under his breath as he gazed at a piece of flimsi in his hands, with a look on his face that could only be described as love-struck. Aha, the boy had encountered a young woman whom he wanted to impress, and gotten her comm frequency, too, by the looks of it. Obi-Wan smiled again at the young love all around him.


	44. Bittersweet Tatooine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Tatooine is not so bad, especially with a Skywalker in charge. Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina continues to exert a concerning pull. Sheev remains skeevy.

Anakin was not normally an early riser, but the baying of a Krayt dragon in the distance had taken him back to his childhood, when he had to get up before dawn to work for Watto. Once he was awake in the room he was sharing with his step-brother and master, he soaked in the giddiness of new romance rolling off of his step-brother. It made him smile to realize that he had something in common with Owen Lars, who had been surprisingly generous about letting him share his room, given his opinions on the subject a year ago.

Sitting up in bed, looking at the sleeping figure, Anakin’s eyes were bluer than they had been in a while. Owen’s brown hair was sticking straight up on his small, hard pillow, now that there were only a couple of inches left on top. Even though the young man was not related to Anakin by blood, examining the planes of his sleeping face made Anakin feel like he was truly home. The Jedi Temple was home too, but this homestead on Tatooine, despite not being the house where Anakin had grown up, also felt like home. Would he have to deny this part of his life in order to become a knight? Was he a bad Jedi for not being able to forget his mother entirely? On the other hand, his master had family on two other planets besides Coruscant as well. Perhaps their whole lineage were bad Jedi. If so, Anakin wanted to embrace it. Kriff the Council and the Code if loving his family was forbidden.

Anakin turned to look at his master curled up on the floor. There was no way that position was comfortable, but then, he had seen his master sleep in all kinds of awkward poses, usually passed out drunk. In this instance, he knew that his master had opted for the floor because he wanted the boys to have the bed. The self-sacrifice was not an attention-grab, but just part of his master’s nature. Anakin had come to this conclusion after seeing which parts of his master’s behavior and personality had stayed the same after he had been sober for a while.

He slipped out of bed and sneaked outside to watch the double sunrise. The inky purple of the desert began to shimmer in red and gold as the twin suns brought another new day, causing the night chill to drift away. The sky was wide open, like the desert, but it was far above the flurries of sand and dust kicked up by the wind. Even the sand flurries glinted gold in the dawn, in a rare moment of beauty. Anakin smiled when he felt another presence coming up behind him. He turned to look at Padme, who had slipped on a midnight blue poncho-like coat over her shimmery turquoise gown. The circular sunburst design at the hem of her coat seemed appropriate for the scene. The suns illuminated her makeup-free face and the dark curls cascading down her back. She smiled at him and sidled up closer to join him.

“Tatooine is a beautiful planet, in its own way.” It was Padme who broke the silence. She placed a hand on Anakin’s arm, sending chills up and down his spine. Through the Force Anakin felt the frisson traveling from Padme’s hand up her arm and into her body as well. He smiled to think that she felt this way about him.

“I used to think I hated this planet, but now I realize that it was slavery that I hated. Maybe Tatooine could become a decent place, under better leadership than the Hutts. The sand will always be coarse and irritating and get everywhere, though.” He smiled at her as the magic moment began to fade into the bustle of a morning on the farm. “We better get inside.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin flanked Shmi Skywalker with Padme following right behind Anakin as they made their way to their meeting site with the leader of the Sand People tribe who lived nearest the Lars homestead. Shmi carried a large jug of water on her head, a ceremonial offering. C-3PO toddled behind Obi-Wan, crying, “Wait for me, wait for me! Oh dear, I’m getting sand in my joints!”

Anakin smiled to hear the familiar voice, until he felt a disturbance in the Force that turned his smile upside down. He could feel that his master had noticed it, too. It felt like Jedi presence: not just any Jedi, but a Jedi in trouble. Perhaps Quinlan Vos was planetside again and could deal with any rescues.

When they met up with the representative from the Sand People, Obi-Wan pushed C-3PO out in front as he smiled at them. Between Shmi’s offering of the water jug and Obi-Wan’s winning smile, the smallish figure seemed fairly content to brandish his staff in a ritualized manner that was not actually threatening. Due to the cloth coverings and round goggles it was impossible to see the expression on the representative’s face, but there was very little hostility rolling off of the person.

“His Eminence recognizes Mother Skywalker as a legitimate chieftain and wishes to confer on her a visual representation of that status.” C-3PO seemed to be largely unaware of what he was saying, but it did not matter. The representative came forward another step and offered a pair of goggles to Shmi Skywalker. She bowed deeply as she accepted them and proceeded to strap them to her head as if they were a tiara. Padme nodded in approval, finding this getup surprisingly chic.

Later that day, Obi-Wan and Anakin went into Mos Eisley with Padme to investigate current conditions. There were Jawas on the outskirts and the same desperate characters as before thronged the streets, but the atmosphere of the city felt different. The old air of fear and danger had dissipated considerably.

The three of them made their way along Outer Kerner Way, just as before. The last time Padme had been on this street was with Jar-Jar and Qui-Gon, not Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged glances as both acknowledged their shared past here. Anakin’s eyes muddied to a darker green for a moment as he remembered the anger and fear he had felt on that day a little over a year ago.

Once they reached the market in Kerner Plaza, the stand selling pallies caught Obi-Wan’s eye. He cast a look at Anakin asking permission before stopping at the stall to buy some. Both Jedi had a taste for the crunchy light green fruit, but the peace they had made was still fairly fragile. Obi-Wan realized that one reason he wanted pallies was that he had developed something of a sweet tooth over the past year. Master Che had explained that this was a normal response to early sobriety, since alcohol was ultimately metabolized as sugar, and that it would dissipate over time, but right now he wanted something sweet. Just being here, in front of that cantina where he had hit his rock bottom reminded him of his old cravings for alcohol. To be completely honest, he still got those cravings from time to time, but had learned to nudge Master Dooku over the training bond until they passed.

Obi-Wan was just pocketing the fruit when he felt a tug on his cloak. He turned to face a very familiar young Togruta girl. “Master Obi-Wan! I’m so glad to find you here. My master and I crash-landed here and now I can’t find her. She said she was going to go look for a new ship, but I don’t see her.”

“Hey, easy, Snips. I think we felt you crash. I’m glad you both survived.” Anakin put a hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder. She could be annoying sometimes, but the worry and terror rolling off of her aroused his need to protect and assist. Padme watched, a bit impressed, as he interacted with this little sister of sorts.

“I have a bad feeling about this. I think I know where we might find your master. The best place to find a starship that comes with no strings attached is generally a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Namely, the cantina.” Obi-Wan gestured to his companions to follow him into Chalmun’s cantina, partly to help him stay on track, and partly to address any suspicions that he would fall to temptation. A quick look around the place brought back unpleasant memories, but something was different. The cantina had seemed much more appealing before, when he was looking for a drink. The same band was playing the same lively music, the same bartender was manning the bar in the middle of the establishment, but the magic promise of alcohol did not entice in quite the same way.

Obi-Wan’s heart sank as he found Argorria slumped over a drink. She had come to find a ship but had found flameouts instead. Judging by the way her face had settled into that bloated, lined state and her eyes had glazed over, this was not her first flameout. Poor Ahsoka stared in horror at her master. She had not known about Argorria’s drunken past and would be completely unprepared for the relapse. Anakin stiffened as Obi-Wan called to the bartender, but breathed a sigh of relief when his master asked about Argorria’s bill instead of ordering himself a drink. He settled the other knight’s bill with credits from her purse, then motioned to Anakin to help him lift her off of her stool. “Come on, Argorria, we’re going home.”

“Sship, I need a ship.” She was slurring her words.

“I have a ship. Come on, we’re going.” Obi-Wan pulled the intoxicated woman out of the cantina with Anakin’s help, while Ahsoka clung to Padme, whom she recognized from Anakin’s lifeday party. It was good to have a reliable adult in the form of Obi-Wan and a comforting female presence.

Obi-Wan deposited Argorria in the speeder as they returned to the Lars homestead to check in with Shmi one more time before they went back to Coruscant. Kitster was there to discuss the details of the silicax oxalate business. Cliegg Lars took one look at Argorria and his expression turned stormy. He was not a fan of drunkenness, and preferred not to let drunk people into his home, but decided not to say anything when he noticed Ahsoka, whom he assumed to be Argorria’s daughter. The child, at any rate, deserved help, even if the presumed mother did not.

As soon as they were satisfied that Shmi’s new government would be all right, they began to say their goodbyes. This time, Anakin gave his mother his personal comm frequency, with Obi-Wan’s approval. If it was all right for Obi-Wan to talk with his mother regularly, it should be all right for Anakin, too. Anakin could see in his mother’s eyes how proud she was of him as a Jedi. He understood that she had not meant to reject him per se a year ago, only to discourage second thoughts about his choices.

Even Owen came out to see them off. In fact, he was the one who noticed that Argorria was missing from the party of departing visitors. Obi-Wan joined him in searching for her through the grounds until they found her staring at the banthas in their pens. “Come on, we’re going. This way.” Obi-Wan tried to use a Force-suggestion on his severely-impaired colleague, which Owen did not notice. It was bittersweet to see that the mind-trick actually worked on a fellow Jedi.

Eventually Obi-Wan was satisfied that he had gotten everyone onto the ship, which was rather small for three, let alone five. At least Ahsoka was still half-size, although she was at an age in which young girls tended to grow quickly. As long as she did not shoot up in height while they were still on the ship, they would be all right.

Argorria was still pretty drunk when they got out into hyperspace. She glowered at Padme, whom she saw approach Obi-Wan to discuss their mission reports while Anakin kept an eye on the controls of their ship. Obi-Wan realized that Argorria had assumed romantic intent on Padme’s part. The Togruta knight had always had an inconvenient fixation on him, and now she was jealous.

When Anakin came out of the cockpit and smiled at Padme, who placed her hand on his shoulder, Argorria’s hostility toward the younger woman began to dissipate. Padme was Anakin’s girl, not Obi-Wan’s. It occurred to Obi-Wan that any communication with Satine during this trip would have to be discreet, since Argorria drunk would not react well if she realized that he had a wife, and she might spread the rumor at the Temple out of spite. Even if he would not get into as much trouble as he had initially thought, the fallout would still be tiresome.

About half-way back to Corsucant, Obi-Wan dialed up to another meeting with the holoprojector. Argorria was still rather intoxicated, which was why she did not notice what he was doing next to her until it was too late. She glared at him as he launched into the recitations of the Jedi Code and the ritual self-introductions. It was embarrassing to be seen tipsy again after a slip. She was better than this. No, that interlude at the cantina in Mos Eisley was not a slip at all, but an experiment in controlled drinking. She could drink normally now, that is, if she wanted to, even if Obi-Wan couldn’t and the other people at the meeting were too scared to try.

Oh, chssk. Why did Obi-Wan have to be so kriffing gorgeous? Argorria’s eyes lazily took in every square inch of his form, studying his face in profile and examining the details of his haircut. How could she possibly keep from grabbing hold of his face and kissing him, from letting her hands explore his physique and play with his hair? He should loosen the closure of his tunics so that she could see more of his chest, or, better yet, take off his tunics entirely. That is, he should take off all of his clothes for her benefit only, not for that upstart little senator who was watching the proceedings from a safe distance. If he would only stop paying rapt attention to the same shares they had both heard before, then she might have her chance. She watched him stroke his beard thoughtfully as that disgusting Devaronian woman talked yet again about her sexual conquests while in a blacked-out state. That woman was keeping Argorria from making her own sexual conquest of Obi-Wan, the kriffing sleemo.

Argorria moved a bit closer to him without actually touching him and studied the side of his head in even more detail. The size and shape of his ears suited him perfectly. His hair was masterfully blended from about an inch on top to almost nothing at his neckline, and there were no bumps on his head, either, although he did have some small moles on his forehead. She had never noticed before the extent to which the top of his hair had been texturized. This was fascinating. If her intense scrutiny of the side of his head made him uncomfortable, he did not show it.

Even after the official meeting was over, Obi-Wan still did not shut off the holoprojector. He called out to an old-timer and mentioned his sugar cravings, asking for advice on managing them. Why did he have to be the relentlessly perfect little padawan, always seeking the wisdom of his elders and superiors in all things?

By the time they reached Coruscant, Argorria had a terrible hangover. Master Dooku was there at the spaceport to meet them; he could see immediately what was wrong with Argorria, but did not say anything out loud. Instead, he hugged Ahsoka, albeit stiffly. He was never one for physical affection of this sort and was generally opposed to excessive coddling of padawans, but he recognized that frightened, haunted look in a child all too well. It was a disturbing contrast to her usual confident exuberance. The young girl would need a network of supportive adults if her master had relapsed, especially if she was going to go back to drinking full-time instead of acknowledging her slip and recommitting to sobriety.

He assessed Obi-Wan through the Force, too. He knew that Tatooine was the site of his grandpadawan’s rock bottom, and was relieved that the Togruta knight’s relapse had not brought Obi-Wan down as well. Anakin’s attitude confirmed that Obi-Wan had remained sober the whole time, although his continued attendance at meetings via holoprojection had suggested as much.

Obi-Wan and Anakin dropped off Argorria and Ahsoka at their apartment, Padme still tagging along, and then Anakin declared that he was going to escort Padme home. Obi-Wan smiled knowingly when his apprentice said that, but did not object. Thus it was that Obi-Wan found himself in front of his door, alone, and fumbling for his key when he sensed that something was wrong. The door was already unlocked; in fact, there was someone inside the apartment already. He took a deep breath and opened the door, slipping his key back into his pocket.

“Ah, welcome home, Knight Kenobi.” Sheev Palpatine sat on Obi-Wan’s sofa, a bottle of brandy on the low table. The elderly Supreme Chancellor smiled in his benevolent grandfatherly way. Did he not have better things to do than to ambush ordinary Jedi knights?

“I see you’ve made yourself at home. I’m afraid my quarters and supplies are not as lavish as what you deserve, Chancellor, but I hope you can pardon the simplicity of my home.” Obi-Wan hung up his cloak on the peg by the door, fishing out his keys, which he deposited in the little japor wood bowl on the stool by the door. Rooting through his cloak pockets reminded him of the pallies that he had bought; he still had three left. If he saved one for Anakin, he could offer one to the Supreme Chancellor.

“I trust your latest mission was not too taxing?”

“It was interesting, I must say. Tatooine is a fascinating place. Would you care for a pallie? It’s one of the delicacies of Tatooine. If, of course, you aren’t too busy.” Obi-Wan camouflaged the dig at the Supreme Chancellor by combining his comments with a wide smile, launching one of his dimple offensives.

Sheev Palpatine responded with a diplomatic smile of his own. “Tatooine? Isn’t that where young Padawan Skywalker is from? And have you grown health-conscious in your old age, Knight Kenobi? For shame! I would have thought that vitamins and minerals and fruits and vegetables would be lower down the priority list of a man still in his early thirties.” The teasing was almost grandfatherly, although Obi-Wan was not so naïve as to take it at face value. Years of interaction with Master Dooku, who, beneath his rather imperious and blunt exterior was actually quite loving in his own way, had taught Obi-Wan the difference.

“I’ve adopted quite a few healthy habits in the interest of modeling the behavior I want to see in my apprentice. I’m sure you understand the feeling of responsibility one has to be a good role model when there are younger people looking up to you as a respected mentor.”

Obi-Wan rinsed the Tatooine dust off of the pallies before putting them into the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter, which he then moved to the low table in front of the living room sofa, before joining the Supreme Chancellor there. “It’s good to be home.” Obi-Wan sprawled his arm out a bit, hoping to project an air of relaxation that he did not actually feel. He used to be on such friendly terms with the old man from Naboo.

“That picture on the wall is of Master Jinn, isn’t it? I recognize the face. I took the liberty of examining it at some length; I must commend you on your artistic talent. Most impressive.”

“Thank you. I’ve always been fond of doodling. Would you care for a cup of tea?”

“I thought your safe return called for something a bit more celebratory, perhaps a cup of Naboo kaf.”

Obi-Wan could see the game. The Supreme Chancellor wanted him to drink like old times. Reminding him of Qui-Gon’s death by pointing out the picture and then offering him a drink felt almost like a deliberate ploy.

“I’m afraid I don’t stock kaf. I am primarily a tea drinker.” This was largely true, from a certain point of view. Admittedly Anakin preferred kaf, but as long as he lived with Obi-Wan, the primary drink would be tea.

“In that case, I suppose I shall have to leave the bottle with you. It was good to catch up with you. I really must be running along.” Just as the Supreme Chancellor got up to leave, the front door opened and Master Dooku entered. He saw the bottle on the table and understood immediately. He gave the Supreme Chancellor a polite smile and made a few perfunctory sociable remarks before joining his grandpadawan inside the apartment, from which he helped to see off the Supreme Chancellor.

“What am I going to do? I came home to find him here. How did he find out the door combination number? Doesn’t he have work to do? He’s the Supreme Chancellor, for kriff’s sake. I don’t want his bottle of brandy. Now what.”

Master Dooku placed an arm on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “But you didn’t drink with him. It could have been worse. You said you used to drink with him. I used to drink with him, too. He eventually gave up on me. I have my suspicions about his motives, but no evidence. I’ve been trying for years to pin down exactly what it is that feels ‘off’ about him. We need to get rid of this bottle before Anakin comes home. Not that you have anything to hide, but he doesn’t need the worry.”

Obi-Wan nodded and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “I guess I can give you one of the pallies. The Supreme Chancellor chided me for being health-conscious when I offered him one. I was just being polite with him, but I’m being sincere with you.” Obi-Wan gave his sad little smile. Master Dooku chuckled nervously and accepted the juicy green fruit, putting it in his pocket for consumption later.

“It’s a pity about Argorria. I was concerned that this might happen since before her master became one with the Force.” Master Dooku’s face looked forbidding and stern to those who did not know him well, but Obi-Wan knew the quirks of his expressions. The way his eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly was a sign of sadness and worry. He was much taller than Obi-Wan, but he positively drooped. “And frankly there’s nothing we can do about it. We can’t force her to want to stay sober. This was what it was like watching you drink yourself to death, by the way.”

“I worry more about little Ahsoka. She’s at a sensitive age. I noticed that she had two brand-new lightsabers clipped to her belt. They had just been to Ilum. Force knows what they were doing near Tatooine. And Argorria seems to have a fixation on me. She was quite rude to Senator Amidala until she realized that the senator was enamored of Anakin and not me. I’ve been through plenty of bad experiences, and poor Anakin has witnessed some of them, but I think it would be traumatic for Ahsoka to see her master act inappropriately around me or any other male.”

Master Dooku shook his head. “Yes, the poor girl. I just hope Argorria comes to her senses before it’s too late and realizes that she can always recommit to sobriety, as many times as it takes. Of course, the more times and the longer one relapses the harder it gets. It’s also a progressive condition, so she’ll be worse off each time.”

“I found her in the cantina, slumped over a flameout. I remember those, they’re pretty strong. Judging by her bill, she’d had quite a few of them. They’re cheap on Tatooine. I would know, I drank a lot of them too, that disastrous lifeday trip for Anakin more than a year ago.”

“Mace Windu. He would know about rehoming this bottle. Come on.” With a swoosh of his dramatic cape, Master Dooku led the way back out of Obi-Wan’s apartment. Obi-Wan smoothed down his hair as he trotted after his grand-master, trying his best to keep up with the taller man’s long strides.

As soon as the two lineage mates knocked on Master Windu’s door, they felt rather than heard the groan on the other side as Master Windu opened his door to let them in. Master Yoda was already there, sipping some horrible brew. His green ears perked up at the sight of the additional visitors. “Ah, back from Tatooine you are.”

“Yes, Master. I came home to find the Supreme Chancellor in my apartment. He left this bottle of sweet brandy. Perhaps you know someone who would appreciate it?” Obi-Wan knew that what he left unsaid would come through loud and clear. Master Yoda’s ears drooped.

“Knight Motigora and her padawan, an accident they had. Most unfortunate it was. Lucky they were that bring them home you could.”

It seemed like a move typical of Master Yoda to change the subject, avoiding Obi-Wan’s unspoken questions about the Supreme Chancellor’s surprisingly easy-going schedule. Obi-Wan wondered if Master Yoda was aware of his colleague’s relapse. Since the ancient master seemed to know everything, perhaps he was.

“Another mission we have for you, one that Padawan Skywalker will enjoy. Go to Kessel you will, deal with the spice pirates we must.” Master Yoda closed his eyes and nodded sagely. “Fight slavery you will.”

Obi-Wan hazarded a smile. “Yes, Anakin will enjoy that very much. He has always dreamed of liberating the slaves.”

“We’ll brief you two officially at a later date. In the meantime, thanks for the brandy. It’ll join my collection.” Obi-Wan looked up to the high shelf behind the Korun master’s sofa, and saw several unopened bottles, collecting dust. He shook his head. He would never understand how someone could have dusty bottles of booze. Then again, that was the difference between an alcoholic and a “normie,” as they said at meetings.


	45. Stewjon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone else has taken over Anakin's brain. Master Fisto is always awesome. Bant comes face-to-face with someone she never expected to meet. Argorria drinks gin with breakfast because I did.

“Remind me again what the target looks like.” The Clawdite woman turned to her associate. Both were wearing bounty hunters’ armor that hid their faces, but Zam Wesell did not need to see Jango Fett’s face in order to read his moods.

“Very tall, swishy black cape, old man with short, white hair and beard, imposing dark eyebrows and fiercely-intelligent dark brown eyes. Don’t let his age fool you. He may be close to seventy Standard but he’s supposed to be a lethal swordsman.”

Zam Wesell’s borrowed human face twitched into a cocky smile. “That’s what blasters are for. You said his name is Yan Dooku, correct?”

“Yes, correct.” Jango Fett did not remember actually meeting this man, but it hardly mattered. He was close to Obi-Wan Kenobi, which was perhaps why his employer wanted the man dead. One did not get to be one of the best bounty hunters in the business by asking too many irrelevant questions. Besides, Jango Fett had already failed to kill this man once before. Their employer paid well, but the penalties for failing to deliver were truly brutal. That blue lightning had been thoroughly unpleasant.

“How do we know that he’s coming?”

“We don’t, not exactly. But he’s been seen in the Chosen One’s apartment on more than one occasion by our employer, so wherever one goes, the other will be aware of it, possibly even following him.”

“I see.” Zam Wesell gave her colleague a salute.

* * *

“Mace, if you’re going to send Obi-Wan and Anakin to Kessel, there needs to be at least one other person there. Anakin is a senior padawan now, and could benefit from the presence of other Jedi, and besides, that place is dangerous.”

Mace Windu and Yan Dooku stood in front of a fountain in the gardens, engaging in a staring contest without looking at each other. The water in the fountain gurgled the same way it always did, but somehow sounded more ominous.

“You’ve gotten attached to your grandpadawan.” Mace Windu cut to the chase.

“I lost all of my padawans, except Asajj. They’re all I have left in terms of legacy. Well, Feemor too, to a lesser extent. I owe it to Qui-Gon to make sure that Obi-Wan is all right.”

“He’s not a crecheling, he’s a full-fledged knight with a senior padawan of his own. I doubt Qui-Gon would worry about legacies. I should know, he was my crechemate long before he was your padawan.”

“I have a bad feeling. Obi-Wan gets bad feelings about things all the time, but I don’t. When I do, it’s truly bad.”

Mace Windu rubbed at the headache brewing at his temples. This entire lineage were extremely stubborn, particularly in their attachments. He had a feeling that Master Dooku would not let up until Mace Windu relented.

“All right, you can go with them. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? Do you want me to throw in Asajj and Alema for good measure so that you can have a nice little family vacation inside the spice mines?”

“Maybe.” Master Dooku continued to stare straight ahead at the fountain, face forbidding and unreadable, except for the tiny smile hidden by his facial hair. What was the best tactical move he could make to make sure that his lineage survived what was clearly going to be a dangerous mission? He braced himself for an attack from a gimmer stick and a lecture about calculating probabilities without trusting in the Force, perhaps with a bonus dissertation on the arrogance of thinking that his presence would protect his grandpadawan and great-grandpadawan from harm, but the warbly, swampy voice of his old master never did address him as “padawan.”

“I’ll tell you what. You and Anakin are going to Kessel, maybe with Master Fisto in tow, but Obi-Wan stays here. How’s that?”

Master Dooku finally tore his gaze from the fountain and bore into the Korun master with those sharp, dark eyes. “You would leave him alone on Coruscant without his support system when the Supreme Chancellor feels free to drop in at any time and try to pressure him to drink?”

“Obi-Wan won’t be entirely alone. He’ll have Asajj, maybe Alema, Garen, and Siri. And I hear he has friends in the creche.” The smirk on Mace Windu’s face was infuriating, but strangely becoming.

* * *

Argorria Motigora saw off her padawan to her morning classes less and less these days, allegedly because she was tired from working late in the Archives every day, but in truth she was awake when Ahsoka left, but too hungover to get out of bed. In that blissful state between genuine dreams and half-conscious fantasy, imagining Obi-Wan Kenobi smiling at her, stripping off each layer of his clothing until he was down to his underwear, she did not want these dreams to end. She wanted to see the parts of the human male anatomy that she had never seen before, to compare them with what she knew of how Togruta men’s bodies were made. Male Twi’lek, Nautolan, Kiffar, and even Zabrak bodies were not a mystery to her thanks to her awesome past, but she had never had the opportunity to be indiscreet with a human.

Gin was an excellent breakfast drink. It could be added to muja fruit juice, even making up three quarters of the drink, without anyone being the wiser. With enough gin in her bloodstream, Argorria could almost pass for functioning normally. Almost. This was why it was important to be careful about keeping up appearances. It was not her fault that the Jedi culture was so strict in its fear of sophisticated pleasures.

* * *

Ahsoka sat in the refectory, projecting calm despite her worry, as she ate her breakfast before class. Bant also entered the refectory, planning on having a meal before going back to her apartment to bed. She had been at the Halls of Healing for the night shift in her capacity as associate healer. Even though she was officially a knight, she had an arrangement with Master Che that let her put in shifts sometimes to keep her knowledge fresh. This was actually unprecedented, but there were few doors that remained closed in the face of Master Fisto’s dazzling smile. Obi had similar powers of persuasion, especially when he unleashed the full force of his dimple offensive.

Speaking of Obi, that little girl sitting by herself had been at Obi’s apartment for Anakin’s lifeday. Bant decided to join the girl’s table. “Is this seat taken?”

“No, go ahead. Master Eerin, was it?”

“Yes, Bant Eerin. You’re Ahsoka Tano, correct?”

“Yes.” The girl stared into her cup of yoghurt in a manner that reminded Bant of Anakin at that age. Bant did not have to be told what the common threads were. The bead braid dangling down the back of her montrals made it abundantly clear that she was someone’s padawan, but her master was nowhere in sight.

Bant had opened her mouth to say something more when her comm went off. “Eerin.” She could see that she was likely going to be sent on a mission.

“We need you to go back to Stewjon for a follow-up observation of the deathstick and spice epidemic. This time around Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker will be otherwise occupied, so your mission partners will be Knight Motigora and Padawan Tano. Do you have any questions?” It was Master Koon’s voice on the other end.

“Just one. When do we leave?”

“Tonight.”

“Understood. I’m with Padawan Tano right now.”

“Perfect.” She could almost hear Master Koon’s gentle smile on the other end.

When the three women entered the starship, Bant realized that she should probably be the one to input the coordinates and get the ship into hyperspace. She told Knight Motigora that she was the one for the task because she had been to Stewjon before, but truth be told, flying was not her best skill. Garen would have been a useful member of their mission, at least for this part. He would doubtless have enjoyed meeting the extended Kenobi family as well.

By the time they landed, Knight Motigora was rubbing her temples with a terrible headache. Her normally terra cotta-colored face looked pale from nausea. The signs of a hangover, nay, withdrawal, were obvious to Bant from a medical perspective.

“Come on, let’s go see Obi’s uncle, Dr. Minnear.” Bant led the way as the only member of their group who had been to Stewjon before. Knight Motigora perked up at the mention of Obi’s name. Oh dear.

The same receptionist as before was there at the front desk of the hospital, but she looked younger and happier somehow. Bant could sense the contentment and loving feelings rolling off of Obi’s widowed sister-in-law and realized that Mrs. Kenobi the younger was in love again. Following her gaze, Bant caught sight of a tall, red-skinned Zabrak man grinning like a fool as he stared at the receptionist. This man was clearly her beloved. Bant had to smile at the spectacle.

Mrs. Kenobi the younger actually recognized Bant. “Ah, you’re Obi-Wan’s colleague. He’s not here this time?”

“No, I’m afraid he’s on a different mission right now. These are some other colleagues. We’re here to see Dr. Minnear for an update on the deathstick and spice epidemic.”

“Ah, he’s expecting you. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Bant led the way to Dr. Minnear’s office, smiling at the young nurse in the hall. He did look a little like Obi, on second examination. He should, as a cousin.

“Well, long time no see, Knight Eerin! I’m glad to see you well. And who’s this wee lass with you?” Dr. Minnear was already grinning from ear to ear at the sight of young Ahsoka. He knew better than to assume that Knight Motigora was the girl’s mother.

“Let me introduce my colleagues. Knight Argorria Motigora and her apprentice, Padawan Ahsoka Tano. Both are close friends of Obi and Anakin.”

With that, Dr. Minnear opened out his arms to embrace Ahsoka. “We consider Anakin a member of our family. Any friends of my nephew or his children are friends of ours. And how is Obi’s lovely wife?”

Bant frowned. Wife? Children, in the plural? That implied that Obi was responsible for not just Anakin but at least one other child. Either this sweet elderly doctor was laboring under a misconception that Obi did not have the heart to address or he knew something that Bant did not.

“Oh. Oops. Bloody stupid of me. Anyway, you want to know about the deathstick epidemic. It’s winding down, thank goodness, now that the chief instigator has gotten clean himself and turned over a new leaf. My sister adopted him, actually. He’s twenty-nine now, so younger than Obi but older than Dori. He’s closest to Goro. You’d be surprised at what a nice young man he turned out to be under all that trauma and those bad choices he made when he was younger. Maybe you saw him downstairs?”

Knight Motigora remained quiet, but her mind was churning. Obi-Wan had a birth family, of course, and evidently these people were that family. That was all right. What was not all right was the mention of a wife and children. She remembered the implication in some of his shares during meetings that he had had a lady love with whom he had violated the Jedi Code, but there had never been any indication that this love affair was not firmly in the past.

“Yes, in fact I did. I saw Obi’s widowed sister-in-law and the red Zabrak man exchanging amorous looks. That’s Darth Maul? I didn’t recognize him, he looked nothing like the mental image I had formed of him.”

“He’s working here as an orderly. His presence seems to comfort our hospice patients quite a lot.”

Bant wondered if he was using the Force for good now, instead of for evil. Perhaps he had figured out how to Force-heal. If not, perhaps he would be interested in learning. It was not hard to imagine him choosing a medical career as a way to atone for the things he had done as a Sith.

“I can call him to my office if you want to interview him.”

“Um, yes, please do.” Bant’s heart raced as she thought about facing the man who had killed Qui-Gon and caused so much misery to so many people, especially people who were dear to her. Her healer’s sensibilities made her glad that he was doing better now, apparently. He seemed to have organic legs when she saw him downstairs earlier, and judging by the fact that he was clearly in the midst of a romantic relationship, it was not just his legs that had been restored.

Nothing could have prepared Bant for the sight of Maul, former Sith apprentice, smiling at her and extending his hand in greeting. His eyes sparkled a rich russet color, not the glowing yellow she had heard about. Bant noticed that his name tag identified him as “M. Kenobi, orderly.” The horns on his smooth hairless head, his muscular physique, his booming baritone, and the black tattoos covering his red face and arms were certainly intimidating, but his mint green scrubs and friendly smile ruined the effect of a menacing Sith.

“I go by Maul Kenobi now.” He had noticed her looking at his name tag. “The Force works in mysterious ways. I’ve heard about you, Jedi Knight Eerin.” The muscles in his thumb twitched almost imperceptibly as he pronounced the word “Jedi” and he shook Bant’s hand.

Jeri-Mar Kenobi was a formidable opponent indeed, if she could turn a Sith to the Light Side, and to the medical profession, no less. Somehow Bant expected as much from the woman who had given birth to Obi-Wan. “Do you use the Force in your medical work?” Bant’s curiosity as a healer got the better of her.

“Not consciously. Why?”

“There are a lot of techniques for Force-healing. It makes sense, though, that you wouldn’t have been taught Light Side techniques. I’m here primarily to get an update on the deathstick and spice epidemic that you caused. I didn’t expect to be able to interview you directly.”

Maul winced. “I did some terrible things that I’ll never be able to make amends for. I was pretty addled myself, first with brainwashing from my old master and then from deathsticks and spice. My sponsor and of course the mind healers at this hospital have been an immense help, but I’ll always live with the guilt. The hardest part is forgiving my old master for what he did to me. We’re taught to let go of our grudges as part of the recovery process, you know.”

“The Sith master?” Bant’s eyes widened.

“Yes. Darth Sidious. I only know his Sith name. I have no idea what his cover identity is, even though he trained me from early childhood. He killed his master to replace him. For years I dreamed of doing the same, but now I have a different life entirely. My network of dealers and smugglers disbanded and went back to Kessel after I got out of the hallucinogen business.”

Kessel? That was where Obi, or at least Anakin was going. Bant was not sure how much she could trust Maul the ex-Sith, so she decided not to tell him where Obi and/or Anakin was going on his mission, but she did promise to work with him on Force-healing techniques.

“I don’t hate him anymore. I know you’re a friend of his. If I still hated him I wouldn’t be living with his mother, using his last name as my own, and surrounding myself with his relatives. I know I caused him a lot of pain, too, when I killed his master. There were many years that I wanted to torment him on purpose, but I don’t feel that way anymore.” He had an uncanny ability to read what or whom her thoughts were about, if not the thoughts themselves. He still could not bring himself to say Obi’s name out loud, apparently.

“Unfortunately my biological brother is still a Darksider. He killed our other brother. To think I used to believe that was normal! I don’t know what’s become of my birth mother. She was never very nurturing when I was still under her care. No worse than my master, but she did let him take me to torture in the name of training.”

Bant’s huge eyes began to water. Odious as it was what this man once stood for, it was important to remember that he, too, was ultimately a victim. She suppressed the distinct weirdness of speaking to Maul of all people on such friendly terms and moved ahead with the interview.

Knight Motigora was obviously not in any condition to help in any way, although she did have the wherewithal to ask for data for the mission report and transfer it to her datapad. Ahsoka was watching the bustle of the hospital staff and analyzing the arrangement of human features that produced that distinctive Kenobi look on the faces of so many of the personnel. It took her a while to realize that Maul was smiling at her. The muscular Zabrak man looked like he would be excellent at lifting patients out of their beds for bath time. She could also sense that he was used to interacting with young girls in his private life.

Sure enough, a pair of little human girls came running into Dr. Minnear’s office. When they noticed Maul, they flung themselves at him, knowing that he could easily lift up both of them at once into an embrace. “Did your mother tell you I was here?”

The girls nodded. They had that Kenobi air to them, suggesting that they were Obi-Wan’s nieces. Maul set them down gently.

“Why don’t you go find Nana? I think she’s here today. Or Uncle Goro.” He sent them on their merry way through the hospital. “Don’t run!” he called after them, every inch the doting stepfather-to-be.

Poor Bant had the distinct feeling of her head spinning. If Maul had so completely abandoned his old Sith life, who was the current Sith apprentice? “Do you Force-lift patients out of their beds?” Bant tried to ground herself by reorienting her thoughts to the logistics of Maul’s work as a Force-sensitive orderly.

“Yes, I do, actually. The human orderlies were always throwing out their backs trying to lift the bed-ridden patients. You have other techniques that use the Force? I’m interested.”

Jeri-Mar Kenobi found her brother surrounded by Jedi visitors. “Bant! It’s been a while. I see you’ve met Maul. You lot are staying with us tonight.” She was eyeing Ahsoka, who was staring unabashedly at this sixty-something woman who looked so much like Master Obi-Wan.

When they reached the house, Ahsoka began to study the family holos on the wall. She recognized Anakin and his master in a few, but there were others that drew her interest. One image in particular struck her. It was of a fiercely-beautiful blonde woman with her arms around two ginger children, a boy and a girl. Both children had that unmistakable Kenobi look to them, open, eager, but intelligent faces giving off an air of modest friendliness.

“I see you’ve found Obi’s family. His wife and two of his kids lived with us for months. Anakin never spent more than a few nights here, though.” Mrs. Kenobi pointed to the holo and beamed with pride before realizing that Ahsoka had not known about Obi-Wan’s secret biological family. Neither had noticed Argorria standing behind them, staring daggers into the image of Satine.

* * *

Sheev Palpatine entered Obi-Wan’s apartment, knowing that he would be alone, his friends and Jedi family all away on other missions. He knew this because he had engineered things this way. What he had not anticipated, however, was finding the apartment empty. He took the opportunity to give himself a tour of the few small rooms, which were perfectly tidy except for one bedroom. This must be Skywalker’s room. There were droid parts everywhere, not to mention a messy pile of flimsi and a precarious mountain of holobooks on the study desk. At least there were no clothes on the bed. The holobooks, apparently from the Archives, were mostly serious academic works about law and mechanics, but a particularly tattered piece of flimsi caught his eye. Gently pulling it out, Sheev Palpatine held it out at arm’s length and tried to focus his aging eyes on the words and drawings. Surprisingly, the initials in the corner said “OWK” and the date was almost twenty years ago. Titled simply “When I Am A Knight,” the drawing depicted two men standing together, both wearing Jedi robes, around the same height, and both with the same long, flowing hair. The one with brown hair must be Jinn. This was interesting, as it suggested that Kenobi had dreamed of having a friendly relationship with his master after knighthood. There was so much potential for hatred and resentment here. Too bad that Kenobi’s disposition made it difficult to grow his Dark Side capabilities.

Sheev Palpatine put the drawing back and decided to wait on the sofa, just like before. What he had not considered was that Kenobi would not return to his apartment until quite late. The man was surprisingly not a homebody, it seemed. At the very least he ought to be out carousing, but knowing Kenobi, he was likely failing to wallow in debauchery.

* * *

Obi-Wan stopped by the creche to see Deltine before heading to his recovery meeting. That child was a good antidote to stress. The way she gurgled and stroked his beard, simply glad to see him, made him feel at peace. He stood with his little daughter in his arms again, as was his habit, and began singing softly in Mando’a, which caused her to giggle and tug on his beard playfully.

“Obi?” Garen had not expected to find his best and oldest friend in the creche, holding a small girl who looked so remarkably like him. The way he smiled proudly at the sight of Garen was so much like the way non-Jedi men smiled when they wanted to show off their little daughters. It was starting to make sense why Obi sometimes slipped into Mando’a, especially when he was drunk. If he had a half-Mandalorian child, that would explain it.

“I didn’t know you were in the habit of hanging out in the creche.”

Obi-Wan smiled mischievously at Garen and whispered an introduction in Deltine’s ear that caused her to beam at him. The only word that Garen understood semantically was his own name, but he had a strong suspicion that he had been billed as “Daddy’s best friend.”

“That child. You were speaking Mando’a with her. I don’t know the language, but any child who looks that much like you and responds to Mando’a is highly suspicious, Obi. What else did you neglect to tell me? I thought we weren’t supposed to have attachments. Does Master Yoda know?”

“Gar, I guess you haven’t met Deltine Kenobi. It’s true that her mother is a Mandalorian.”

“And you’re the father, aren’t you? Let me repeat my earlier question. Does Master Yoda know about this, because this is against the Code.”

Obi-Wan smiled sheepishly. “Do I really not make a convincing uncle? Master Yoda knows. I asked if he was going to expel me from the Order, but he reminded me that my oath of knighthood did not mention marriage, children, or any rules against either. Just serving the will of the Force and avoiding attachment as part of that service. Let me tell you, if you marry a Mandalorian woman, there is not much attachment involved. They’re self-sufficient, not in the least bit clingy, fiercely loyal, and usually tougher than most human men from other planets. I don’t think you met my wife or my son.”

“No, I don’t think so. I guess if you’re going to go sowing your wild oats during missions, it’s only right that you take responsibility for the resultant offspring.” Garen thought back on his friend’s drunken ways from the not-so-distant past.

“Marrying young and having two children within that marriage hardly fits the definition of being a lothario, Garen. If you ever have a padawan you’ll be more understanding of why I spend a lot of time in the creche, in the company of younglings. Truly wonderful the mind of a child is, and all that.” There was that mischievous gleam in his eyes again.

Garen shook his head. “You’re incorrigible, Obi.”

“Thank you.”

Sheev Palpatine waited some more, but Obi-Wan still did not come home. Instead, he went to a recovery meeting, smiling at the holoprojection of Master Dooku sitting next to him. There was no sign of Argorria in any capacity, but that was no longer surprising, sad as it was to say. By the time Obi-Wan went to the refectory afterwards, followed by a couple of hours in the Archives, it was no longer an hour at which one could make social calls without seeming horribly inconsiderate, nefarious, or both, and Sheev Palpatine gave up and returned to his office in the Senate building.

* * *

A yellow-skinned Zabrak man with black tattoos fingered his prize. They said a Jedi’s lightsaber was his life. This one had been recovered from the trash heap from Theed Palace on Naboo, and when turned on, it glowed a bright blue. How careless it was for that Jedi to throw it away, how callous it was of him also to throw away the mutilated remains of his brother. Darth Sidious had told Savage the name of the Jedi who had tried to kill his brother. Not even a knight, but a mere apprentice.

Savage had given the lightsaber to his mother to see what she could find out. Mother Talzin had floated the weapon over the ground where she had drawn the powerful ancient symbols, chanting the traditional spells, lighting the circle of red lanterns. As she rocked back and forth, the scene of the lightsaber’s last use had floated above them, replaying the final battle between his brother and the Jedi.

Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi. That was the man’s name. Savage vowed to avenge his brother and kill this Jedi, whom he knew that his new master wanted to turn. If Kenobi turned to the Dark Side as a Sith, he would surely replace Savage, given the way Darth Sidious fixated on him as the Chosen One. The Zabrak woman in that bar on Coruscant seemed rather fixated on him, too, but she had no recent information. She was a disgusting, pathetic creature, missing quite a few teeth and with liver spots spoiling the design of her facial tattoos, not to mention the needle marks on her arms, but she had smiled at Savage lasciviously and asked if he was as good a kisser as the red-skinned Zabrak man she used to share her stash with. Savage’s heart sank when he realized that she was talking about his brother. That was Kenobi’s fault, too, that poor Maul was in so much pain that he had resorted to spice.

Kenobi, for his part, had been seen with the beautiful young senator from Naboo. If Savage could engineer a threat against her, he might be able to draw the Jedi out. None of Maul’s old contacts from Savage’s new master’s list had heard from him recently. Either poor Maul had finally been captured by Kenobi or he had ceased to be a Sith or he was too spice-addled to know what was what. Unlike Feral, Maul was actually appealing, as far as kid brothers went.


	46. Boom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Padme is made of sterner stuff than Bail Organa. Savage Opress wreaks havoc on poor Anakin's mind. Nautolans have more fun.

Qui-Gon’s eyebrows drooped a bit even in the best of times. In this moment they were practically vertical as he made the saddest face that Obi-Wan had ever seen. Long, thick hair cascaded over his shoulders, more grey than brown, as he hunched over the body of a woman. The dark olive complexion and luxuriant dark waves pooled around her suggested that this was Master Tahl. Even now that Obi-Wan had gotten to know his birth mother, there was still a place in his heart for the woman who had been as close to a mother as what a young padawan could have hoped for in a Jedi context.

As he gazed upon the scene, the faces of the people changed. Qui-Gon’s hair seemed to lighten in color to blond, the length of it gathering itself into a padawan braid, while the features of Master Tahl shifted. Anakin lifted Padme’s hand to his lips, still making that sad face. In the distance, Obi-Wan could hear raucous laughter as the pair of Sith gloated, yellow eyes gleaming in the half light.

Obi-Wan woke with a start. Did this mean that Padme was in danger? Or was it his birth mother being threatened? If the Supreme Chancellor were there in his bedroom right now, he would undoubtedly offer Obi-Wan a drink. “You are the Chosen One, not that scruffy little half-witted nerf-herder from Tatooine. Go on, take a drink. You really believe you’re just like those pathetic lifeforms who self-identify as alcoholics in those meetings? You are different, Obi-Wan Kenobi. If you embrace the power of the Dark Side, you will be able to drink with no consequences.”

The voice in his head was clearly not one of his own thoughts. No, Anakin was the Chosen One. Obi-Wan was honored to have been allowed to train him. _I don’t want to drink, not even if there are no consequences._ Obi-Wan thought of one of the maxims he had heard at the meetings. A man takes a drink, then the drink takes a drink, and finally the drink takes the man.

“Master?” Obi-Wan knew it was an obscene hour of the night, but Master Dooku had said that he would be available at any hour of the day or night. It was worth giving him a prod over their training bond.

“Padawan?” Master Dooku’s side of the connection was groggy, which was to be expected. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think so. I heard a voice in my head that I’m pretty sure was planted there. It was urging me to drink, of course. This voice felt different from all the times I had cravings while I was drinking and in early sobriety.”

“You’re saying it’s Sith interference.”

“Yes. It came right after a nightmare. I haven’t had an auditory hallucination in more than a year.”

“Meditate on it, but don’t brood or panic. Force, I sound like Master Yoda. Anyway, go back to bed.”

“Yes, Master.” Master Dooku’s bluntness was reassuring after night terrors like this. Obi-Wan in his thirties did not need to be coddled like a youngling, after all. “Is Anakin all right?”

“As far as I know. I’ll let you know if he isn’t. Anyway, go back to bed. Now.”

* * *

After a morning spent in the Senate building sitting with Senator Organa of Alderaan in his pod, Obi-Wan was happy to go to lunch with him. “It’s so good to see you, Senator. I don’t know how you manage to spend every day of your working life in that place, the atmosphere there is so vile and corrupt.”

Senator Organa responded with a short, political laugh, but the smile that played about his eyes was genuine. “You can call me Bail. It’s only non-politicians and rookie senators who find the Senate disappointing and vile, because the rest of us are used to trying to make the most of a bad situation made worse by dishonest people. Somebody has to infiltrate that hive of scum and villainy and do some good.”

Obi-Wan waited until they were out of the Senate building before breaking into a laugh. “You make the Senate sound like a dodgy booze joint in Hutt Space.”

“It feels like one, sometimes. Hey, speaking of which, would you like to join me for a drink as we discuss those poor cloned boys?”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. There was no need to dump his entire drunkalogue onto Bail Organa the way he would if he were the featured speaker at a recovery meeting, but Obi-Wan did not feel comfortable lying, either. If he accepted the drink, he might be able to appear urbane, or at least normal, but he knew full well that he would not. This was profoundly embarrassing, having to admit his limitations in this area to a man he respected, especially since Bail Organa seemed to return the high esteem.

“Actually, I don’t drink. But I do eat, so how about having lunch instead?” Half of Obi-Wan’s psyche wanted to explain at length why this was the case, perhaps sharing his wonderment at staying sober for more than a year, lest Bail Organa assume he had always been a goody-goody teetotaler who needed to be shaken up a bit, but another part felt ashamed about the fact of his addiction and wary of dumping the emotional burden onto the poor, unsuspecting senator, who would feel guilty for inviting him and perhaps alarmed.

“Oh. I’d heard that your appetites were legendary, but I guess the rumors were mistaken. I’m afraid senators love to gossip, and many don’t care if what they’re saying is true or not.”

“What are they saying about the poor clones?”

“Very little. It hasn’t been introduced formally as an issue, although of course you told me about it and I believe Senator Amidala heard about it from your apprentice. Obviously Nute Gunray and the Trade Federation know about it, and Senator Milew of Merisee does, if he expects to billet the clone army. Is there anyone else who knows about it, outside the Senate and the Jedi Order?”

“I told the Duchess of Mandalore because the DNA donor for those clones was a Mandalorian.”

“Ah, yes, I met her about a year ago. Lovely woman. I trusted her immediately.”

Obi-Wan hoped that his smile was not too fond. He decided to hide it in the menu of the restaurant and focus on ordering lunch.

As soon as their lunch arrived, Bail Organa lifted his glass of pilsner and Obi-Wan his iced tea before settling into their meal. It occurred to Obi-Wan that he would have watched closely as Bail Organa drank his beer, trying to justify ordering a second, then a third glass, back in his drinking days. Observing other people’s drinking habits in order to better camouflage his own was exhausting. Things were so much simpler now that he did not drink at all.

“You know, Alderaan is prepared to accept the clones. All of them, if need be. Of course, it should be up to the clones themselves to decide where they want to go. As I told you, we have a shortage of young workers. These clones are fit, young, and educated. Their military training would make them good security guards and policemen, as well, not to mention firemen. They would be a welcome addition to our society.”

Obi-Wan smiled wider, this time in relief. “They need proper homes and normal lives. I’m glad you’re thinking in these terms. Remember, they are still so young.”

Bail Organa’s expression clouded as the sadness of the clones’ situation came to the forefront of his thoughts. “Breha and I have tried since we were first married to conceive, but to no avail. To think that there are so many minors in the galaxy who have no parents while there are couples like us who really wanted children.”

Obi-Wan knew better than to stir up the other man’s well of private grief. Instead, he opted to keep the discussion more focused on business. He was well aware of how lucky he was to have Anakin and two of his own children, especially considering that he was not supposed to have any.

As they were returning to the Senate building, Obi-Wan felt a disturbance in the Force. Images of fire and people running and screaming from a bomb attack flashed into his head, while one figure in particular lay face-down on the stone steps, limbs horribly charred, long dark curls singed off. This image tied into his dream of the night before, warning him that there was going to be an attack against the Senate, or at the very least an attempt on Padme’s life. His eyes were wide with alarm and heightened alertness, every muscle of his body taut and ready to spring into action to protect the innocent at any moment.

“Obi-Wan? What’s wrong? Obi-Wan?” Bail Organa grew more and more alarmed as his friend steeled his nerve, watching for Padme to come out of the building. As soon as he felt her presence, Obi-Wan hurried up the Senate steps, taking two steps with every stride, until he had caught up with Padme, leaving Bail Organa behind. Obi-Wan stood in front of the young senator from Naboo, one hand gripping her arm, the other on the hilt of his lightsaber.

He had just enough time to drag Padme into the shadow cast by some shrubbery before the smallish bomb went off. Bail Organa had caught up by now, and the shock and horror on his face was a sight that Obi-Wan would not soon forget.

* * *

As soon as he landed on Kessel, Anakin’s spirits sank. This was no better than Tatooine in terms of natural environment. The strip-mined earth was dusty and yellow, like Tatooine, but in an artificial way that made him sad. If this place had always been a barren wasteland like this, it would simply be a natural landscape that was not to Anakin’s taste, perhaps, but not a tragedy. Knowing that much of the desolation he saw was due to sentient activity, much of it slave labor, made his blood boil.

Master Fisto put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Not all of Kessel looks like this. There are lush forests and mountains in the south.” Master Dooku was rolling his eyes at Anakin in particular, although he was a little surprised at Master Fisto as well. Apparently Qui-Gon’s focus on nature, especially of the lush, pest-infested variety, had been passed down the line. Pathetic lifeforms indeed.

“Not to mention a beautiful castle in the south, as well.” It was not as old or as tasteful as the Dooku ancestral castle on Serenno, but not too shabby, really, considering that the Yaruba family had only recently built it with their ill-begotten wealth. The difference between old money and new money was time, of course, but somehow the spoils of ancient villainy and rapacity seemed more respectable, perhaps because old aristocrats had developed a sense of noblesse oblige. This was one of the paradoxes of aristocratic life that was best left unexamined, unless one was a Jedi.

“Paid for by slave labor,” Anakin spat.

“Do you remember what the commodities were that are mined here?” Master Fisto, being currently in between apprentices, could not help but talk like a master helping his padawan prepare for a pop quiz, although his smile helped to sweeten the didactic remarks. Those sparkling, perfect white teeth could star in toothpaste commercials. It was hard to imagine that it was a simple matter of green lips and skin making them look whiter than they were. Master Dooku had spent decades trying to take proper care of himself, certainly since he got sober, and his teeth did not look like that. It was hard not to be a little jealous. Thinking, “when my age you reach, look as good you will not” in Master Yoda’s voice was not much comfort.

“Coaxium, Kesselstone, Kessoline, and spice.” Anakin recited. The coaxium and Kessoline were perfectly legitimate, as types of fuel, but the Kesselstone and spice, of course, were controlled substances or outright illegal, given their primary use as ingredients for narcotics. “Out of these, spice in particular is mined by slaves.” As much as Anakin detested his natural history and geography courses as a junior padawan, whenever slaves were mentioned in his textbooks, he had paid attention.

“Very good.” Master Fisto was still in teacher mode. Master Dooku found himself a little jealous of the younger master, who managed to get away with this, with Anakin no less, while neither he nor Obi-Wan could.

* * *

“How did you know about the bomb that was going to target Senator Amidala?” Bail Organa sat in the easy chair behind the large desk in his office, rubbing his nose, while Obi-Wan sat next to Padme on the visitor’s sofa.

“A disturbance in the Force. I’ve always had visions and premonitions. The older I get, the more used to them I get so that I can react appropriately and not panic.” Obi-Wan knew better than to launch into detailed explanations of the Unifying Force when talking to non-Jedi.

“Would you like some brandy, Senator Amidala?” Bail Organa almost added, “Obi-Wan?” to the end of the sentence before remembering what his Jedi friend had told him earlier about being teetotal.

“To steel my nerves? I don’t think so. No, I’m not shaken or rattled. I’m used to assassination attempts. I’m just glad that Knight Kenobi was there to guide me out of the way and that nobody else had to die in my stead.” Padme thought of the handmaidens who had given their lives as her body doubles during her time as queen. The person who was most thrown off balance by the bomb scare was Bail Organa himself.

“Why are they targeting you?”

Padme regarded her fellow senator for a few seconds before deciding to trust him. Obi-Wan she trusted already, having been through adventures with him before and learned his two biggest secrets. Bail Organa was undoubtedly a good man, whom she could trust with any infants born to her out of wedlock, but incriminating secrets about the most powerful man in the galaxy were another matter entirely.

“Probably because as senator for Naboo I have access to a lot of classified information about my homeworld and all preceding senators. Some of whom are not entirely honorable in their intentions.”

Obi-Wan’s raised eyebrow was enough encouragement for Padme to continue. “My immediate predecessor was in office for nearly three hundred years, all told. He was a human, too, not a member of a species that routinely lives for centuries.”

The Dark Side was a pathway to abilities many might consider unnatural, or so Obi-Wan had been told. It was clear to him that Padme was referring to Sheev Palpatine. It was not surprising that he would try to target anyone who dug around too much in his past, especially someone like Padme, who, as a very young woman, might seem like she should be easy to scare off, but of course was obviously a dogged gundark of a woman if you actually knew her.

“I can assure you I’m quite all right. I’ve never let a bomb, blockade, or even a war stop me before. Hey, since we’re all together, why don’t we discuss clone immigration? Naboo is mooting accepting clones now, and Senator Mothma told me that Chandrila would be willing. What about Mandalore itself?” Padme turned to Obi-Wan, which was a little baffling to Bail Organa.

Obi-Wan pulled out his comm and saw that he had a message from Satine. “Ah. The Duchess has passed a bill to grant the right to immigrate to the clones. Naturally they would belong to Clan Fett.”

Bail Organa stared, wondering why Obi-Wan would be in such close communication with the Duchess of Mandalore. Padme smiled, remembering the last time she had seen Satine, and the day Obi-Wan had told her their secret in that bistro.

“Good. I suppose we could draw up a bill, then. Knight Kenobi, don’t you have a meeting this afternoon?” Padme had such a natural way of taking charge of a situation, radiating both warmth and authority. Even after all these years, she still used formal titles towards Obi-Wan, not to keep him at arm’s length, but because of her own embarrassment at having had a schoolgirl crush on him all those years ago. It would not do to be improper.

“You’re right. Thank you for reminding me. I guess I’d better be going.” Obi-Wan stood up, stretched his whole body by extending his arms up over his head, and smiled at Padme. It was nice of her to not mention what sort of meeting he had. The woman was a paragon of discretion. If even a little of that rubbed off on Anakin, Obi-Wan would be eternally grateful. She was a good influence, to be sure. The boy was lucky to have found a brave, intelligent woman who knew when to call out his chssk and when to let him get away with it. That was a true friend indeed.

As expected, Bail Organa looked at Obi-Wan with question marks in his eyes, although he was too sophisticated to ask directly. He knew just enough of Jedi practices to be aware that most members of the Order who were not on the Council did not spend their days trapped in dull yet oddly dangerous meetings.

Obi-Wan decided not to explain. A little mystique was healthy. Someday Anakin would learn this as well.

* * *

Master Dooku was a bit relieved to find that Anakin was shielding himself properly as they approached the mine. At least Obi-Wan had taught him that much. There were still gaps in the boy’s training, due, of course, to the fact that Obi-Wan had spent several of the years he had had with the boy as a drunk, but Anakin was no longer so willing to listen to his master as he tried desperately to fill in the gaps. This was where other masters like Master Fisto and of course Master Dooku could help. Master Dooku had also been indisposed for much of Qui-Gon’s training, so that any gaps in Obi-Wan’s knowledge and abilities could also be blamed on Master Dooku. It was only right that he salvaged what he could of his lineage now.

Wookiees, humans, Togruta, and Twi’leks labored in the mines, along with the odd Zeltron. Rodians were not suited to this kind of work, which was why humanoid species were the most popular slaves. The sight of Togruta men with slave collars seemed to stir up bad memories for Anakin. Master Dooku knew better than to ask for details. It was rude to pry into the traumas of another.

“Don’t center on your anxieties, Anakin.”

Anakin turned to stare at Master Dooku. “That’s what my master says.”

“And his master said it to him, because I said it to Qui-Gon. Master Yoda said something to that effect to me. You have me to thank that the syntax is not a riddle anymore. It’s still true, no matter who says it. Let’s get on with it.”

Master Fisto was smiling to hear this exchange. Even his smirk was dazzling enough to be disarming. No doubt he had said something similar to Bant.

Anakin’s eyes flashed yellow at the sight of Saelt-Marae. The Yarkoran was inspecting a new batch of slaves, by the looks of it. This was the same individual who had been on Mimban, and on Tatooine before that. He was, in fact, one of the first people that Anakin had ever known in his life, having been present at the sale of Shmi Skywalker and her child to Watto. The other figure at his side was apparently the acquisitions officer who had imported this new batch. The large triangular ears at the top of her head and feline face suggested that she was a Zygerrian.

Unbeknownst to Anakin, they were being watched. Zam Wesell thought the green Nautolan man was especially attractive, but she was a professional, and, as such, kept her eyes on the target. The old man was not to be underestimated, especially if he had a young, hot-headed great-grandson of sorts in tow. She crept closer and closer to the group of Jedi, hoping that they would not notice her.

Master Fisto saw the pits, and thought what a pity it was that they were bone dry. These mines would be fun to swim in if they were filled with water. If they somehow managed to flood the mines, the slaves might also drown, which was not their intention. A difficult problem it was indeed.

The Zygerrian put a hand in her pocket as she turned to leave, frowned, and began swearing. Someone had divested her of the keys to her ship, possibly of some other valuables as well. She unhooked a long, leather whip from her belt and began whipping the slaves indiscriminately until Saelt-Marae stopped her. Anakin’s stomach turned at the sight. He knew that the Yarkoran slave-trader was not sparing the slaves out of compassion but simply because he did not want the merchandise damaged. Early memories of slavers deliberately avoiding his mother’s face when beating her started to bubble back to the surface.

Anakin itched to run out toward the slavers and slash them to bits with his lightsaber, but Master Dooku’s hand on his shoulder restrained him with a surprisingly strong grip. It was at that moment that Anakin saw flashes of memories not his own. A slaver leading him around by the padawan braid—which was not Anakin’s blond, but reddish gold—and clamping on a Force-inhibiting collar, welding it shut, whipping his bare back, and keeping him cooped up inside a tiny shed as a “Jedi dog.” Anakin’s eyes flashed yellow as he saw these experiences from their victim’s point of view. How dare anyone treat his master like that.

Master Dooku noted with alarm that the padawan was not shielding his thoughts at all, and that these thoughts appeared to be planted into his mind from an external source. Worse, the images did not match any of Obi-Wan’s memories that he had seen, and Master Dooku had seen quite a few in his capacity as sponsor. He had a nagging suspicion that the disturbing images in Anakin’s brain were a direct result of Sith intervention. As much as the boy still harbored residual anger toward Obi-Wan, it was obvious that he was deeply attached to the man.

It was at that moment that Kit Fisto felt the fateful blaster shot before it was fired. He grabbed his two colleagues by the shoulder and shoved them down into the shrubbery, so that the shot hit the Zygerrian woman directly in the chest. He knew that the shot had been intended for them. A glance around the ridge where they were hiding did not reveal anyone lurking, but he could feel the bounty-hunter’s presence—a female presence, that harbored no ill-will towards himself.

Saelt-Marae had begun shouting at the woman who lay crumpled at his feet, while Anakin had leaped up into the air, thinking to pursue the bounty-hunter. Kit Fisto shot the boy a look and took off in her direction. He could use her attraction to him in order to confuse her long enough to apprehend, or, failing that, kill. Having had his prey stolen from him, Anakin landed clumsily on his feet, succeeding only at getting noticed by Saelt-Marae. Master Dooku saw in a brief vision that he himself was the intended target of the shot, and let go of Anakin’s arm. If that boy was to attack the slavers, he would need backup.

The slaves themselves, perhaps because they were a new shipment not entirely broken in yet, quickly joined the fray, ganging up on Saelt-Marae and flinging their chains at him, knocking him down and trying to strangle him with the chains. Anakin was not satisfied and was clearly still spoiling for a fight when more security arrived. Master Dooku had to hand it to the boy, his Ataru flips and Soresu parries of blaster fire did his master credit.

Kit Fisto would have stuck out like a sore thumb against the brown landscape if he had not been wearing his brown cloak; his bright green complexion contrasted sharply with the desolate terrain. Even so, he did not have too much trouble keeping the bounty-hunter within view. His Force-enhanced strides helped him close in on her, until he Force-pushed her onto the ground, at which point he jumped on top of her to pin her to the ground. Her helmet fell off upon impact, revealing a rather pretty human face with delicate features, which dissolved into a scaly green Clawdite countenance. Her eyes regarding him remained the same, a savage blend of attraction, fear, and hate illuminating her final regard. Kit Fisto smiled in victory as he tied her up, causing her gaze to soften further. Reptilian ladies seemed to find him irresistible, a fact that he had learned to use to his advantage over the years. He was about to ask her who her employer was when a small device at her collar, which he had assumed to be a comm unit, exploded, killing her instantly. The last thing she saw was Master Fisto’s smile.

Finding his quarry dead, Master Fisto began to make his way back to where he had left the other Jedi, but he got a bad feeling. Perhaps they had been captured. If so, they would be taken to the castle, no doubt. Master Dooku would enjoy that, although the dungeon would be less his style. The other possibility, of course, was that the two Jedi and the slaves together could defeat the security forces.

Master Fisto hid in the entrance of an abandoned mine shaft as reinforcements arrived from the direction of the castle in the south. He watched them arrive and crept in the direction from which they had come once they were mostly out of view. The slaves, though new, would probably be fairly fit from the hard labor. With Jedi leadership, they could still prevail.

As he moved across the landscape toward the lush south, he heard the rush of water not too far away. Kit Fisto smiled again. Finally, he would be in his element—quite literally. He followed the ambient cascading sound of water being let out of a dam until he found the source. Aha, the mines were being kept artificially dry after all. Master Fisto unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and set to work carving a much larger spout for the water.

Anakin and Master Dooku hardly heard the rush of the torrential flow of newly-liberated dam water until it swept into the mine, down the shafts and into the pits. In fact, it was only when he noticed a pair of Wookiees grumbling about getting wet that he noticed that the water was upon him. Anakin smiled as he retracted his lightsaber. In this moment he thanked the Force that his master had been so insistent that he learn to swim. Master Dooku, for his part, was already swimming upstream, having surmised that Master Fisto would be at the root of this.

There were some cries from slaves, but it was the thought of the spice mines being utterly ruined by the water that made Anakin smile. He followed his great-grand-master in swimming upstream. Sure enough, Master Fisto was waiting for them by the dam. He pointed out the castle and grinned. “I think I know how we’re going to infiltrate it. Castles have moats. Moat water comes from somewhere. That somewhere usually links into the water system of the castle itself.”

Master Dooku made a face. “Kit, if you want to be a sewer rat, be my guest, but why do you have to drag me into it? I’m coming, but I don’t like it.”

“What makes you think I enjoy swimming in the sewer? I always swim in the clean water supply whenever I have to infiltrate a building through the water pipes. Don’t be ridiculous, Master Dooku, I’m more discerning than you give me credit for. Besides, if the dojo rumors are to be believed, it was your grandpadawan who went swimming in the septic tank once in search of a lost bottle, back in the bad old days.”

Anakin bristled. “No, he did nothing of the sort. I would know, I was there when he dove into the water tower tank looking for something he claimed he had hidden and lost up there. He wouldn’t say what it was that he had lost, but I knew it was a bottle. I kept watch while he swam.”

Master Fisto laughed, blinding them both with his gleaming dentition. Life was unfair in letting Nautolans have more fun.


	47. The Brain-jacking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never trust a fake Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan continues to get away with things on the strength of his charm. Clan Kenobi unites.

“Korkie? Is that you? My, how you’ve grown!” Jeri-Mar Kenobi burst with pride at the sight of her teenage grandson from Mandalore.

“But not as much as I hoped I would.” The boy observed as he got swept into his grandmother’s arms.

“Korkie! Is that the way to greet your Nana?” Satine crossed her arms. She could have sworn that she had taught him better manners than that.

“It’s quite all right. Let Nana get a good look at you. Wow, you look even more like your father.” Mrs. Kenobi pushed Korkie’s overgrown shaggy ginger fringe out of his face to get a better look.

Satine’s chest swelled with pride. At this age the Kenobi baby face combined with the noble refinement of Kryze features produced a classically beautiful ephebe who would mature into a handsome man, like his father. Korkie also had an intellect to match, although the ardor of his youthful idealism could make him somewhat intolerant. He would mellow over time, his fair-mindedness blossoming into compassion, much like his father.

Mrs. Kenobi ushered them into the house, encouraging them to drop off their bags in the room assigned to them and then to join the rest of the family in the sitting room. The bride was sitting in the middle of the biggest sofa, basking in the attention, while Goro-Ban smirked worshipfully in a corner. He had never imagined that his life in recovery would be so normal.

Satine stiffened at the sight of the red-skinned man who had once planned to kill her. Now he sat with two little girls perched on his lap, playing with his horns. He nodded at Satine but stiffened at the sight of Korkie. Of course he would, the boy clearly reminded the former Sith of his nemesis.

The bride spoke up. “That’s your nephew, Goro? He’s a good-looking young kid. How old are you, kid?”

Korkie came closer to the bride. “I’m seventeen. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

The bride cocked an eyebrow and looked at Goro-Ban. “Men in your family certainly age well. No offense, kid, but you look much younger. I can’t see your face properly with that long, shaggy fringe in the way.”

Satine chuckled as if to say, “I told you so.” She knew that Korkie was mostly trying to hide the obvious resemblance to his father, but he was also trying to hide his baby face. Now that they were surrounded by Kenobis, it seemed futile to try to hide the visual similarity. Maybe he could be convinced to finally cut his hair.

“Hey, Korkie. We lads are going out to get spruced up and maybe have some fun before the wedding tomorrow, why don’t you come? You’re old enough.” Dori-Zan ran a hand through his hair and stood up. Satine nodded at Korkie, giving him permission to join his uncles and male cousins.

“I’ll catch you later.” Maul continued to play with his soon-to-be stepdaughters. The bride and three youngish women who were likely Satine’s sisters-in-law smiled mischievously, thinking of the hijinks their menfolk would get into as the traditional night-before festivities. Satine thought back on the night she and Ben whispered their vows in a damp cave, clothes torn and muddy, faces fearful and dirty. It was hardly what one would call a wedding, and there was certainly no stag party beforehand, but Satine did not envy her sisters-in-law. What mattered was not the pageantry, since she got enough of that in her capacity as Duchess, but her children and the fact that she had Ben for a husband. Admittedly there were many years during which they were not in frequent communication, but ever since his mission to Mandalore four years ago, they had gotten close again.

The women drifted into the kitchen, except for Satine. She remembered that her comm was in the luggage in her room upstairs. Ben would want an update.

Once she reached the top of the stairs and strode down the corridor towards her room, Satine heard soft moaning. That must be Ben’s father. She grabbed her comm from her room and rustled into her father-in-law’s room. Sure enough, he looked distraught and confused as he sat on the floor, dried spittle caked on the sides of his mouth, the remains of a meal stuck in his beard. He rocked himself and moaned, apparently afraid of unseen threats. His eyes remained unfocused for a while until he suddenly became aware of Satine. Though not exactly a paragon of mushy motherliness, she could project peace and reassurance when needed. She knelt down on the floor across from him, took his hand, and began to sing softly.

Shortly after she started singing, her comm chirped, so she pressed the button to holoproject the caller into the room. As soon as he saw the situation on Satine’s side of the call, Obi-Wan joined her in song, moving through their repertoire of Mandalorian songs together.

The daughters of the late Fuki-Nan Kenobi were many things, but right now they were ready for a nap. Maul brought them upstairs to his bedroom to sleep, fully intending to go out and join the rest of the Kenobi men in their shenanigans. Given the number of recovering addicts in the clan, he knew the mischief would not include mind-altering substances. Seeing how comfortable the Duchess had been in sending her son to join them, it would probably be fairly wholesome, or at least breathtakingly juvenile. On the other hand, that boy had a serious demeanor, so perhaps he was being sent to keep the others in line.

On his way back down the corridor, Maul stopped in his tracks. He heard a woman’s voice singing, accompanied by a less-distinct male voice and the gurgling sounds of delight coming from the old man. Without thinking, he moved closer to the door to hear the music better. He could not understand the words, but he could identify the language as Mando’a. That meant that it was the Duchess singing. The indistinct male voice supplementing hers was almost certainly someone singing over a holotransmission—more than likely that blasted Jedi who had started it all. He was the reason Maul had been sucked into the vortex of Kenobi-ness.

Once the singing stopped and the Duchess came out, Maul opened his mouth as if intending to speak to her, but no words came out. He had never seen her at such close range before. What a fool he had been to think of killing her just because of her connection to his nemesis. This woman, though beautiful in her stiff silk cornfield blue dress, had the bearing of a warrior. Her eyes bored into him with a keen intelligence that he had never seen in a human before. Despite their arrogance, humans were hardly the smartest species in the galaxy.

“I’m Maul. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but whatever you’ve heard, the truth is worse.” He looked down, bringing his horns down into closer view. His past life as a Sith and then a drug lord was certainly not admirable, but he refused to feel shame about it, either. It had not been his choice to be a Sith, anyway, and the battle scars from his tempestuous life were his badge of honor as a survivor. All of those experiences, good and bad, had made him the man he now was.

Satine regarded him critically for a long moment before declaring in a quiet but authoritative tone, “You know who I am. I believe that you are not going to take this opportunity to kill me. It is not in your interest to do so. I have no interest in killing you, either. I am in the minority among my people, I’m afraid, in my commitment to non-violence.”

“But your husband is a warrior. I heard you singing with him, and some of the songs sounded distinctly war-like. I would like to learn them.”

Satine’s eyes betrayed her surprise while the rest of her remained steady. “You want to learn Mandalorian battle songs? That is a surprise, or maybe not.” She looked him up and down, trying to imagine him in full Sith regalia, complete with a red lightsaber, instead of the civilian clothes he was wearing.

“I also wish to warn you and your husband. I wasted much of my life longing to kill him, but I no longer feel that way, after all these years living with his relatives. My biological brother, however, is still on the Dark Side, as is of course my former master. Both are antagonistic towards your husband. I saw in a vision that my biological brother has retrieved your husband’s old lightsaber from Naboo and has been trying to conjure with it to ensnare him. Warn him, please. My former master will use my brother and discard him when he is finished. The sooner your husband confronts both, the better my brother’s chances.”

Satine was surprised to see the desperation in the formerly-yellow eyes. A strong desire to protect his brother was a sentiment that she could understand easily. The man was still trying to reconcile two sets of familial obligations while preparing to acquire a family of his own. For the first time in her life, she saw the Zabrak warrior as a person, not a dagger pointed at herself and her family.

* * *

“You were right, Kit. The water supply is a good way to infiltrate a castle, and the clean water of the pipes makes it almost bearable. I should warn my sister-in-law about this regarding our family castle on Serenno.”

Master Fisto flashed his dazzling smile again. “Anakin kept up quite well for a human from Tatooine. Well done.” He patted the padawan on the back and gave a lighthearted tug on his braid.

It was incredible how easy it was to reach the throne room when using the servants’ corridors. Their Jedi robes, though sopping wet, made them look like tradesmen, apparently, with Master Dooku’s aristocratic bearing suggesting that he was the foreman or master craftsman of the group.

Anakin looked straight ahead as he followed the masters through the winding passageways and up the stairs, until he saw a figure that stopped him dead in his tracks. Qui-Gon Jinn was smiling at him from a doorway, playing with the dice that he had rolled all those years ago to get Watto to agree to Anakin’s release. “Go get them this time, the slaving sleemos,” he whispered, before disappearing. Anakin smiled back, his eyes gleaming bright yellow.

As soon as they reached the throne room, Anakin drew his lightsaber and hurtled toward the upstart king, who was in the middle of upbraiding Saelt-Marae for the disaster at the mine that the Jedi had caused. Masters Dooku and Fisto frowned in surprised consternation as Anakin sliced off the king’s head in one clean stroke, in a move more commonly used by Darksiders.

Anakin turned on Saelt-Marae, who had gotten up from his kowtow on the floor, and slashed the furry Yarkoran’s body in two, left to right. With a feral yowl, he further sliced off the head, muttering “That’s for Mom,” as he did so. By this point the security forces had arrived, and Anakin continued to cut them down with a Djem So fury never before seen in the dojo.

When they were finally all dead, Master Dooku approached the panting boy, still not daring to put a hand on his shoulder for fear of having it sliced it off. Anakin turned to face him, eyes still gleaming yellow. “I saw Qui-Gon,” he said, simply. Master Dooku felt icy fingers running up and down his spine as the mental image of the smiling ghost leaked from Anakin’s mind. That was certainly not the Qui-Gon he had known so well. Anakin had not spent that much time with the long-haired master and would not know the real ghost from an illusion created by black magic.

“Now what. There is no longer any ruling body on Kessel to reason with, now that you have slaughtered the king and his guards. It is much easier to affect change when you can get the current power structure on your side, Anakin. I thought your master would have taught you that, given his diplomatic prowess.” Master Dooku expressed his disappointment plainly.

Anakin squared his shoulders as his eyes settled into a truly unsettling yellow-green. “It worked on Tatooine. My mother is in charge now. Besides, slavers aren’t people. They’re animals, and I slaughtered them like animals. The slaves will rise up and reshape this place, find a better livelihood.”

Master Dooku and Master Fisto exchanged glances. How had they missed this? Why had Obi-Wan not caught this, seeing how far gone the boy seemed to be? No, that was not fair. The ginger knight _had_ caught it, had even told Master Yoda about it, but the Jedi Order had decided to simply observe. Poor Obi-Wan.

* * *

Obi-Wan had taken to spending time in the Archives, the Senate, and the Temple gardens in an effort to avoid being at home when the Supreme Chancellor dropped in. He sat in front of a fountain, beneath Qui-Gon’s favorite tree, trying to meditate, but the intense emotions leaking from Anakin’s side of the training bond were giving him quite a headache. There was no doubt in his mind that the boy’s eyes were bright yellow right now, but at least he had Master Dooku with him. The training bond with Master Dooku seemed stable and reassuring in its quiet presence, indicating that Obi-Wan’s sponsor and grand-master was still in one piece.

He looked straight ahead and saw Qui-Gon’s ghost fade into view. It was a reasonable facsimile of the man Obi-Wan still regarded as a father, but something was off. The blue eyes beneath the droopy eyebrows did not have their customary sadness. These eyes were shining with an oddly green glee, visible despite the blue tint of the ghostly apparition. This was not Qui-Gon at all. Obi-Wan frowned. The ghost smiled broadly and spoke. “The Chosen One has embraced his full power and freed the slaves of Kessel. I’m so proud of him.”

The ghost did not even have the decency to talk like Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan sighed. “I’m proud of his achievements and his noble instincts, but I worry about him. You aren’t helping. You’re not a bad imitation, though.”

With that, the ghost grumbled and disappeared. Obi-Wan continued frowning, not caring about the lines that would develop between his eyebrows. Satine would have to learn to live with the worry lines too, not just the laugh lines. Besides, she probably had plenty of her own. Ah, parenthood.

This kind of conjuring was clearly from the Dark Side, but he did not recognize it from his dealing with the Sith. His comm chirped, again with a message from Satine. Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed even further when he read the message relayed to him via Satine from Maul. Could he trust that man’s warning about his brother? On the other hand, conjuring a fake Qui-Gon was the kind of black magic he might expect from Dathomir. But why?

“Brood you do again, young Obi-Wan.” The knight braced himself for the gimmer stick attack that never came. “A very disturbing problem, your apprentice is having. Because the Chosen One he is, so much irregularity in his upbringing we have accepted. Perhaps a mistake this was, hmmh?” Master Yoda poked at the space between two of Obi-Wan’s ribs with his gimmer stick. Obi-Wan had no difficulty understanding that the Grandmaster was alluding to his own violation of the standard understanding of the Code. What was he supposed to do about it now?

Obi-Wan continued to sit cross-legged in the garden, a pained expression contained just beneath the surface of his Jedi mask. He understood that he was only being tolerated despite his status as a married father because his expulsion would be too disruptive for Anakin. Once the boy was knighted, all bets were off on what would become of his pathetic lifeform of a master. Obi-Wan would find himself in largely the same predicament as right after the real Qui-Gon was killed. Unless, of course, that could be reversed as well, seeing as Maul had not only returned from the dead but had gone on to join Obi-Wan’s birth family.

Anakin’s roiling rage and vindictive triumph continued to throb in Obi-Wan’s head. No doubt Master Dooku was trying to reason with the boy, trying to do something about the mess. It had been a simple reconnaissance mission primarily, but Anakin had turned it into a bloodbath. This was the same boy who moped over the killing of Grendola Belden; the difference was clearly further Sith interference.

A thought came to Obi-Wan. Perhaps the poisoning of Anakin’s Force signature was a direct result of the Sith master trying to get to Obi-Wan directly and failing. If the Supreme Chancellor were indeed the Sith master, then these attempts on Anakin might stop if Obi-Wan drank with him, even if it killed him.

No, what was he thinking? He would be even less use to Anakin drunk or dead. Perhaps the Sith master had tentacles sunk into Obi-Wan’s mind as well. He shook his head, trying to chase away these thoughts. Master Yoda, of course, had been watching him all this time. The green ears quivered, indicating that he had seen into Obi-Wan’s mind.

“Suspicious of the Supreme Chancellor you are. Hmmh. Some tea you need. Master Windu’s tea selection the most appropriate is.” With that, Master Yoda toddled off to observe some younglings, leaving Obi-Wan alone with his thoughts. He pulled out his comm, having lost all hope of meditating. Satine had sent some holos of Goro’s wedding. Maul appeared in the images again, face nearly unreadable except for a smile, but it was hard to tell whether it was genuine. The littlest members of the extended Kenobi clan had all grown so much. Dori was holding his first-born while Fuki-Nan’s widow draped one hand over the shoulders of each daughter while her eyes were cast toward Maul, who stood next to Satine. Just a few years ago, this would have been unthinkable. Ah, there was Korkie. Looking at him in the image felt strange, almost as if Obi-Wan himself had gone back in time. The boy’s fresh ginger crewcut furthered the impression; on the other hand, so many of the Kenobi men wore similar styles that he actually fit in better. There was no disguising his basic Kenobi-ness anyway. If Obi-Wan was to be expelled from the Order for fathering Korkie and Deltine, so be it—Obi-Wan had no regrets and was not sorry.

Hey, was that Argorria? Obi-Wan noticed the Togruta woman sitting precariously on the ledge of a fountain, trying her best to look sober. Do or do not, there is no try. With his oft-seen sad little smile on his lips, he got up and headed for Master Windu’s quarters to see about the tea.

* * *

When Anakin finally returned home after a good sixty days on Kessel trying to set to rights the mess he had made there, Obi-Wan turned up at the spaceport with a new dusting of grey at his temples and some grey patches in his scruffy short beard. It was obvious that he had spent a lot of time worrying about his surprisingly blood-thirsty apprentice. After patting the boy down to confirm that he was in one piece, all four men headed to Obi-Wan’s apartment, only to find it already occupied.

“Welcome home, Anakin!” Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine smiled in his warm, cloying way. He had a bottle of sparkling wine on the table, along with several disposable plastiform glasses. “Let us celebrate your safe return.”

“We appreciate the thought, Supreme Chancellor,” Obi-Wan bowed but not apologetically, “but may I remind you that Anakin is underage?”

“So he is, on Coruscant. If you come to Naboo, my boy, you can enjoy our fine vintages.” The eyes crinkled but did not sparkle. Master Fisto stepped forward to share a glass with the Supreme Chancellor, trying to diffuse the tension in the room. Obi-Wan put on the kettle, remembering that this was his apartment, after all, so that he was theoretically the host. As if on cue, Master Windu arrived, Master Yoda pulling him along by the robe as if he were a reluctant youngling. Garen and Bant popped their heads in as well as soon as Bant got word over her old training bond with Master Fisto that Anakin was back. The boy himself stood there, green eyes vacant and shell-shocked, until his master handed him a full teacup. Master Dooku smiled almost imperceptibly as he cradled the warm teacup in his hand. It was clear to Obi-Wan that his grand-master was in the midst of a silent conversation with Master Yoda. He could only hope that Sheev Palpatine would not eavesdrop.

Masters Fisto and Windu, along with Garen and Bant, escorted the Supreme Chancellor back to his office as if they were trying to contain him, leaving the bottle on the low table in the living room. There was perhaps still a quarter left. Obi-Wan did not envy those who could drink normally—where was the fun in restraint?—but the spirit for which sparkling wine stood was bittersweet. The four remaining Jedi sat at the kitchen table instead in an effort to ease into something none of them had ever tried before. Master Dooku began by replaying the disastrous first day of the Kessel mission. Consternation rolled off of Obi-Wan as he added his version of the fake Qui-Gon for comparison after Anakin showed his. Master Yoda blinked and sipped his tea, the only visible sign of his alarm and sadness the quivering and eventual drooping of his green ears.

The Jedi sat in silence for a while until Obi-Wan pulled out his comm and shared the warning from Maul. Master Yoda said nothing about the name listed under “sender ID” or the strangeness of the missive’s context and origin. “Believe you do, young Obi-Wan, that Dathomiri black magic was used.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I understand that Maul has one living biological brother, a chap who goes by the name of Savage Oppress. I’ve been reading about Dathomiri black magic in the holobooks at the Archives. I believe that the target is me, rather than Anakin, and that Savage has gotten a hold of something of mine. Maul believes that the object in question is my first lightsaber, the one I lost on Naboo.”

Master Dooku nodded. Having actually met Maul and spent years helping Asajj work through the unfortunate parts of her Dathomiri heritage, this seemed reasonable to him. “But you haven’t met him and aren’t certain what he might have of yours, whether Maul is right about it being your old lightsaber.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Whether it’s my lightsaber or something else, it must be something from my padawan days, seeing how the magic tends to produce images of Qui-Gon.” He scratched the spot behind his right ear where his braid used to start, even though his padawan braid had been gone for eight years. The ruins of his old training bond with Qui-Gon were still there as well, still painful after all these years; the silence on the other end was deafening.

After their session, Anakin took the bottle to the Senate building and padded through the halls to Padme’s office. She was of age, she could finish it. Meanwhile he knew that his master and great-grand-master would be going to another of their recovery meetings. As long as they did not drink again, it did not really bother Anakin anymore how they achieved that result. He had long since accepted it as part of his daily life, although it was still embarrassing to have a former drunkard for a master.

After his meeting, at which Argorria was again absent, Obi-Wan busied himself in the kitchen with a nagging feeling that he and Anakin would not be alone for dinner. Sure enough, Bant and Garen returned. If Siri and Reeft came, adding Quinlan Vos in a whirlwind of welcomes and goodbyes, it would be the good old days again.

Obi-Wan smiled, putting the disturbing images he had seen from the earlier group meditation session out of his mind. Bant in particular would worry unnecessarily. Besides, he had some holos of his brother’s wedding to show her, since she had met most of his relatives.

“I got some images from Goro-Ban’s wedding. I believe you met him. Here, let me pull them up.” Obi-Wan wiped his hands and handed Bant his comm, activating the images in question as he went back to cooking.

Bant smiled to see the familiar faces look so happy. “I recognize almost everyone, even Maul. He was surprisingly nice. I never thought I’d ever say that about a former Sith. Who are these two? This boy around Anakin’s age looks oddly familiar.”

Obi-Wan peered at the image, his eyes following Bant’s webbed finger to the smiling face of young Korkie. The boy’s crewcut made him look even more like his father did in his padawan days. Garen had also joined them in peering at the image. Obi-Wan remembered the day Garen had caught him in the creche with Deltine; there was no use hiding the truth anymore.

“The blonde woman behind the boy is the Duchess of Mandalore. She’s the boy’s mother, although officially she’s his aunt. The truth is that they’re my wife and son. Garen already met our daughter in the creche. I suspect the only reason I haven’t been expelled from the Order yet is Anakin. Master Yoda knows.”

Bant stared. “It’s true, then. Siri said you changed after Mandalore, and she thought there was a woman involved.”

Obi-Wan fixed his gaze on the contents of the skillet. Was he really that bad at keeping secrets? On the other hand, these were the two people who knew him and his past the best, aside from Satine herself.

“Do you wish you had a wedding like this?” Despite years of living as a Jedi, Bant still managed to focus on the wedding ceremony the way civilian women often did. It was truly a blessing that Satine was not like that.

“No. We were pleasantly surprised to be alive. There was no wedding to speak of, no witnesses, no marriage license, nothing official. We were hiding in a cold, dark cave, covered in mud.” The dreamy look in his eyes indicated that he found this non-wedding not only sufficient but downright romantic.

“I remember that mission you had to Mandalore. Judging by the looks of that boy, you left quite a parting gift. Obi-Wan Kenobi, you were a bold one, knocking up a teenage Duchess, then going back and doing it again when you were older but not any better at keeping your trousers on.”

“I was a teenager too, you know. Satine is only half a year older than me. Korkie is about the same age as Anakin, and I think both boys benefited from having an age-mate and brother. And I think I’m a better master to him despite the awkward age gap precisely because I was a teenage dad.” Obi-Wan carefully turned down the heat on the stove.

“Anakin knows, then. Does he know about the girl?” Garen’s face was still a perfect picture of disapproving incredulity, even though Obi-Wan knew that his friend would have done the same thing given the chance.

“Of course. He visits his little sister in the creche even without me.”

“Speaking of Anakin, where is he? He was trying his best not to look shell-shocked from his mission.”

“He’s in Senator Amidala’s office. Captain Panaka is there to supervise.” Obi-Wan grinned mischievously as he shut off the stove and poured the completed dish into a large serving bowl.

Garen frowned. “What are you going to do if he knocks her up, the way you did with the Duchess?”

“He will take responsibility for his actions, as I did for mine, and then the Force will provide a way.” Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkled deviously.

“You’re a worse influence on your padawan than Qui-Gon ever was on you, do you know that? You’re incorrigible.”

“Thank you, Garen.”


	48. Sith Consultant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maul makes himself useful. Poor Anakin is scared.

“The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking. There are no dues or membership fees. We are not officially part of the Jedi Order and are not seeking controversy. Our primary purpose is to stay sober and to help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety.” The meeting chairwoman began the meeting as usual.

Obi-Wan led the recitation of the Jedi Code, introduced himself as an alcoholic when it was his turn, then looked around him. Master Dooku was on a mission somewhere with Anakin and another knight, but he still managed to holoproject himself onto the seat next to Obi-Wan.

It was when Obi-Wan got up to make some short remarks about his second sober anniversary that he noticed Argorria slink into the room, trying to Force-cloak herself. She did not say anything when the chairwoman called on the newcomers to introduce themselves; her complicated pride at having been sober before her relapse most likely driving her embarrassment at starting over.

After the meeting, Obi-Wan approached her discreetly. “I understand you met my birth family.”

“I saw the family holos on the walls.” Her eyes betrayed her hostility, suggesting to Obi-Wan that she had found out about Satine. _Oh dear, she might possibly start spreading rumors. Let her, Master Yoda already knows._

“Did you meet my father? He’s an alcoholic too.”

Argorria simply glared. “I did meet Maul. I had no idea your mother was harboring a Sith lord.”

“Former Sith lord, apparently.”

Argorria could not tell him that she had returned to meetings because of her most recent mission, which was a disaster because she was drunk and mistook Master Fisto for her late master, installing herself in his bedroom and stripping as she waited for him, the way she had done for her master when she was a young girl living with a drunken old Nautolan.

“How’s Anakin?”

“He’s offworld on a mission with Master Dooku and another knight.”

Later at the dojo, Asajj Ventress turned up as well, in addition to Ahsoka and Argorria. Argorria glared at Master Ventress and clicked her tongue in displeasure when Ahsoka launched herself at Obi-Wan, throwing her arms around him. Why did the girl have to treat him as if he were her master instead of her?

“Long time no see, Asajj. How is your post-padawan life?” Obi-Wan was grinning mischievously at Asajj Ventress as he returned Ahsoka’s hug.

“All right, I guess. You know, Alema has been going to the creche whenever she’s on Coruscant. She told me she’s staked out a youngling to be her first padawan in a few years. Alema said she felt a connection to a little Togruta girl who’s seven. Maybe in five or six years. I’m not sure I’ll be ready for a grandpadawan.”

Obi-Wan cocked an eyebrow. That sounded like the little girl whom he and Anakin had picked up on their first mission together. It was almost a relief to think of Alema becoming that girl’s master. It had been seven years already. Asajj Ventress and Obi-Wan sat back and observed for a while, each of them reminiscing privately.

It was at this point that Ahsoka came bounding up to the two lineage mates, her master visibly winded behind her. Ahsoka grabbed Obi-Wan by the wrist. “Master Obi-Wan! See what I’ve learned!”

Argorria finally caught up. “Ahsoka, where are your manners? What ever happened to the magic word?”

Ahsoka’s white facial markings furrowed for a moment. “Please come see what I’ve learned?”

“That’s better.” Argorria took a seat near but not next to Master Ventress.

“Sure, show me what you’ve got.” Obi-Wan was only too happy to follow the young teenager into the salle, away from the women and their one-sided rivalry. The whole thing was stupid. As Jedi they ought to know better.

Obi-Wan was not surprised when he left the dojo a sweaty mess, having worked extensively with Ahsoka. At thirty-three, he was still able to keep up with her thirteen-year-old energy. Apparently her master was not up to it. The men’s showers were empty, which was nice. Obi-Wan came out of the shower, one towel around his waist and another draped over his shoulder, and noticed that his comm was beeping. The incoming message was from an unfamiliar frequency.

“Kenobi.” Obi-Wan decided to answer it. To his surprise, the holoprojected figure on the other end had horns and an interesting pattern tattooed onto his smooth head. He was wearing civilian clothes; Obi-Wan had heard that it was a fairly recent development that this particular Zabrak man had gone back to wearing any kind of clothes at all. The face was familiar in theory, but the look about his eyes was completely different, beyond the absence of a vicious snarl.

“We meet again. It’s Maul. Your mother gave me your personal comm frequency. You know that I’ve been living with your birth family. I’m calling to tell you that your father has passed away. Your mother couldn’t bring herself to tell you, but she thought you should know. There’s no need to come to the funeral; nobody expects that. We understand that part of being a Jedi. It was the same for me as a Sith. Speaking of which, did you get my warning through your wife?”

It was at this moment that Mace Windu walked into the room and did a double take. Obi-Wan Kenobi, almost naked, talking to a holoprojection of the same Sith lord who had killed his master, who was now talking about Obi-Wan’s wife and birth family? What secrets did this man have?

“Hello there.” The figure noticed Master Windu standing behind Obi-Wan, and smiled and nodded at the tall Korun master. “I’m Maul.”

“Darth Maul?” Mace Windu took his place next to Obi-Wan and repeated the name incredulously. “Am I interrupting a family reunion here?”

“It’s just ‘Maul’ now. I left the Sith Order. Rather, I was kicked out, replaced. My brother thinks he’s the current apprentice, but he’s just being used, like I was. The real apprentice is someone else. I want to help my brother and stop my former master from hurting anyone else.”

“And how do I know I can trust anything you say? I know you’ve been living as a member of the Kenobi family, but still.”

“If you want to know the inner workings of the Sith Order and who all is in it, it seems to me like a former Sith would be the best source of information. But it’s your call, Master Jedi.” Maul shrugged.

“Let’s hear the man out.” Obi-Wan glanced at Master Windu, who, as the creator of Vaapad, ought to be more open to hearing about the Sith from someone who would know better than any Jedi.

“Quite a collection of scars you have. I have a lot of them myself. Look, I’m sorry about the ones that I gave you, and I’m sorry about killing your master. We Sith kill our masters as a matter of course, so it’s taken me some time to understand how you experienced that event. I wasn’t in my right mind until I left the Sith Order and got clean.”

“And I’m sorry about your legs. Congratulations on getting them back.”

Master Windu was pinching the top of the bridge of his nose by now. He had not planned on witnessing the big reconciliation drama between Jedi and former Sith. All things considered, it was easy to miss how much drama Obi-Wan was capable of, given the rest of his flamboyant lineage.

“Thanks. Your uncle is a good surgeon. Oh yes, the reason I called. My warning about my brother. I think he found your old lightsaber on Naboo and has been conjuring with it, with help from our birth mother. He’s trying to hijack your mind, in addition to your apprentice’s. I believe he’s the one who’s targeting the senator from Naboo, in his belief that you’re in love with her.”

“Great, he’s not only hostile, but misguided as well.” Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to pinch the top of the bridge of his nose. “What about the other apprentice? What can you tell me about him?”

“I don’t know what his cover identity is, but he goes by Darth Meadd. He’s not human or Zabrak, as far as I can tell. He seems to be influential in his cover identity, too. My brother never stood a chance.”

“Darth Meadd. Maybe a senator. I’ll look into it. Thanks, Maul. I appreciate what you do for my mother.”

As soon as he ended the call, Obi-Wan remembered that he still only had a towel wrapped around his middle. He had been not only unarmed but mostly exposed in front of the man who had been his greatest enemy. Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide and he scurried to his locker.

The bomb attack on Padme had been baffling, to say the least, but if it was a misguided attempt to hurt Obi-Wan by hurting the woman wrongly assumed to be his girlfriend, that made a bit more sense. Bail Organa had no idea. The thought of the good-hearted senator brought a smile. Those clone boys would be happy on Alderaan. In less than a year they would reach physical maturity and be ready for shipment to Merisee—unless Bail succeeded in intercepting them.

* * *

Anakin was constantly being sent on missions these days, as if the Council was trying to help him make up for lost time. He was paired with Agen Kolar, Shaak Ti, Master Dooku, Master Fisto, and just about everyone else thinkable, except for Obi-Wan himself. This was standard practice, but it did not help Obi-Wan’s tendency to worry whenever he heard about Anakin’s yellow-eye episodes or rages.

This time around, Anakin exited the ship with his head hung down in shame. Obi-Wan did not have to ask to know why. Master Koth shook his head behind Anakin as soon as he caught sight of Obi-Wan waiting at the spaceport. Another massacre had taken place, with the blood from that on Anakin’s hands.

“Whom did you slaughter this time?” Obi-Wan tried to keep his tone light as he drew his padawan into a rare hug.

“The Trade Federation.”

Obi-Wan cocked an eyebrow. “All of them, or just Nute Gunray?”

“Most of them. Including Nute Gunray. He made a funny squealing noise as I killed him. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I wasn’t planning on it at all, but I heard a voice in my head, laughing and urging me to put them all to the sword. I was terrified and horrified. I didn’t _want_ to kill them, Master.”

Obi-Wan hugged Anakin tighter. “Normally I would advocate going home, but since there’s no guarantee of privacy there, let’s go to Master Dooku’s apartment.”

Master Dooku already had the kettle on for tea, because he was expecting Master Yoda. One look at Anakin and he guessed what was troubling the master and padawan pair. His majestic dark brows furrowed in a way that might seem to the casual observer like disapproval, but that his Jedi family recognized as worry.

As soon as Master Yoda came in the door, Anakin blurted out, “I accidentally murdered Nute Gunray in cold blood.” Obi-Wan was pinching the top of the bridge of his nose again, while Master Dooku’s lips were pursed.

“Not much sense the boy makes, but understand him I do. Settle into my seat I must, first. In such a hurry you are.” The gimmer stick whack was almost a relief to poor Anakin in his current state of distress.

When they all shared Anakin’s memory of the massacre, Master Dooku drew a sharp breath. “This reminds me of something. Oh yes. When Hego Damask of the Banking Clan died some years ago, everyone said it was natural, since he was eighty-five, but that’s young for his species. I remember getting a strange feeling about it, since I had met the man and gotten an unpleasant vibe from him. This feels similar somehow.”

Master Yoda nodded sagely, then took a sip of that horrid brew that Master Dooku kept on hand just for his old master. Nobody else would consider that putrid brine tea, but Master Dooku had been dealing with that stuff ever since he was a padawan, and knew how Master Yoda liked it.

“Meditate on this we must. Perhaps research Hego Damask you should. Clues his death might have for our poor young padawan here.” The bulbous green eyes regarded Anakin with a sad, compassionate air as the claws thrummed against the low table in Master Dooku’s living room.

Obi-Wan took Anakin to the refectory and met up with Master Dooku in the Archives to help search for information about Hego Damask, not wanting to go home until an hour at which the Supreme Chancellor was unlikely to drop in. Poor Anakin was wilting in the reading nook in the Archives, exhausted and sad from his mission, by the time Obi-Wan judged the hour late enough to risk going home.

“You look like a mess, too, Anakin. Your braid needs to be redone, and the rest of your hair trimmed. I think I can add a bead.”

Anakin looked up at his master for a moment before looking back down at the floor. “I don’t deserve a new bead.”

“I think you do. Come on, into the fresher with you.”

Obi-Wan ran the clippers over Anakin’s head, hoping the dull rhymical hum of the motor would have a calming effect, but it did not seem to help. He even trimmed and retied the little nerftail at the back of his padawan’s head before turning his attention to the braid itself. “Remember, Anakin, what the three strands of the braid stand for. You, as the padawan, continue to survive and thrive; me, as your master, always here for you; and the Force itself, which works in inscrutable ways sometimes but always ultimately for the best.” Obi-Wan did not say that killing Nute Gunray would hinder investigation.

“Yes, Master.”

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Letting him into the Temple itself?” Master Windu was still not quite sold on the idea even now.

“He’s in a position to explain so much. I believe him when he says he’s turned to the Light Side.”

“This is unprecedented. If anything happens—"

“I’ll be personally responsible. He’s staying in my quarters, anyway. Maybe I’m crazy for trusting him, but it’s worth a try. Do or do not—”

“There is no try. Yes, I know. Just remember, if anything bad does happen, I’ll hold you to what you said about being responsible.”

“Thank you, Master Windu. I’d better go to the spaceport to meet him.”

Obi-Wan had to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. Maul was coming to stay with him in the Jedi Temple as a sort of Sith consultant, but more than that, he would offer avuncular advice to poor Anakin about how to beat back the Dark Side. The voice of experience was a powerful tool.

There he was. Obi-Wan’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the tall Zabrak man disembark. Master Dooku, standing behind him, also tensed a bit. It was one thing to encounter reformed Sith Maul Kenobi on Stewjon, but quite another to bring him into the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

Maul, for his part, smiled awkwardly at both Jedi before extending his hand. The last time he had had any bodily contact with Obi-Wan, they had been fighting to the death. Now they were allies, brothers even.

“Let’s go to Master Dooku’s apartment and drop off your bags for now.” Obi-Wan looked into the eyes that were no longer yellow.

Once in the privacy of Master Dooku’s apartment, Obi-Wan smiled at his former enemy. “I never thought this would happen. The Force works in mysterious ways.”

Maul looked around the apartment until his eyes settled on a framed portrait of Qui-Gon. “I recognize that man. He was your master, wasn’t he? The one I killed.”

“Yes, that’s him. I drew that. There’s another portrait similar to it in my apartment. I can take it down during your time with us if it upsets you.”

“No, don’t. I can’t imagine memorializing my old master like this. It’s not the Sith way, largely because our masters are abusive and evil. But seeing that picture is good for keeping me honest. My sponsor is always hounding me to keep up with making amends as part of my ninth step.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “That’s funny, my sponsor says the same thing. This is my sponsor right here, of course.”

“It works if you work it.” Master Dooku supplied the oft-repeated slogan. All three men chuckled, no longer Jedi and Sith but fellow addicts united in recovery.

Master Dooku sipped his tea and looked straight at Maul. “Did you hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise? It’s not a story the Sith will tell you. His apprentice, Darth Sidious, poisoned him. I did a lot of research on Hego Damask that jogged my memory of the man, then had Force visions about his demise.”

Maul stared in amazement. “I never thought I would hear it from a Jedi. We know a lot about the Jedi, since quite a few of our members defected from your Order, but I never thought about Jedi studying us. Your knowledge about the Sith Order is about to expand, though, because I’d be happy to tell you whatever you want to know. I also never thought I would abandon the Dark Side.”

At that moment Asajj Ventress entered the apartment. “Master, I—oh, I didn’t realize you had a visitor. Obi-Wan! You’re here, too.”

“You’re welcome anytime, padawan. Come, meet Maul. He’s visiting from Stewjon.”

Maul nodded perfunctorily until it registered that the woman was a fellow Zabrak. All his life he had been taught that Zabrak were naturally Darksiders, and yet here was a Zabrak Jedi, a woman no less. How had she ended up a Jedi instead of a Nightsister like most of the Force-sensitive Zabrak women he knew?

“You’re a Zabrak.” This was not the opening remark he had had in mind.

“Yes. So are you, apparently. From Dathomir or Iridonia?”

“Dathomir.”

“Me, too. I’m Asajj, by the way.” She smiled and extended her hand.

“Nice to meet you. Are there a lot of Zabrak Jedi?”

“There are a few. Mostly Iridonian men, though.”

At a natural lull in the conversation Obi-Wan took Maul with him to the refectory, leaving Master Ventress to talk to Master Dooku about whatever it was she had wanted to confer with him about. Maul had been wise to wear a cloak over his civilian clothes so as not to stand out so much.

“You know, I was promoted to the rank of Knight for killing you.” Obi-Wan’s eyes betrayed his bemusement as he ate his lunch. His companion looked up at him and gave a weary sigh.

“I was close to dead for a quite a while. Speaking of recent dead, Satine and Korkie came back to Stewjon for your father’s funeral. That boy looks just like you. I’ve seen enough Kenobi men to know. Were you drinking when you fathered him?”

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to sigh as he told Maul the highlights of his life story, then shook his head at the brutality and sadness that characterized Maul’s personal history. Neither man noticed Mace Windu listening from a nearby seat.

“I didn’t realize you had already arrived.” Master Windu had a pained look, as if to suggest that he should have been at the spaceport to meet Maul and possibly contain the infectious poison of his very presence.

“Yes, I just arrived today. Thank you for letting me come.”

Master Windu was pinching the top of the bridge of his nose again. “Master Drallig wants to see you this afternoon. He said he couldn’t resist the opportunity to learn more about Sith lightsaber techniques.”

“I’d be happy to talk to him, but we don’t really have a codified lightsaber style. We just do whatever works, using our hate and anger to power us through. I suppose this is the sort of information he would want.”

Wherever Maul went inside the Temple, Obi-Wan always accompanied him, as the one responsible in case something went wrong. Younglings stared when they recognized him from the security holofootage of the Battle of Naboo, and even adults struggled to avoid fixing their gaze on him for too long. More than anything, it was the sight of the two surviving combatants of that infamous duel, getting along, walking side by side, that got the attention of Jedi in the halls.

“Master Drallig, this is Maul.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re a legend, you know.”

“Infamous, more like. I’m new to trying to be a nice person.” Maul bowed his head as he shook hands with the sabermaster.

“Do or do not, there is no try.” Obi-Wan teased. Master Drallig stared, wide-eyed, at Obi-Wan. Since when had they been on such friendly terms? “How about if you give us a demonstration, and I can sketch you in action. You know, for our reference books. I missed the opportunity last time.” Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkled in good humor.

It did not take long for a small crowd of knights and padawans to gather around the demonstration in the dojo, with some knights even asking Maul for a friendly spar. Maul declined every offer, explaining that “friendly spar” was an oxymoron for a swordsman trained as a Sith. Obi-Wan had to manage the crowd so that they would not smother poor Maul as he answered questions about the Sith Order.

In the evening they picked up Maul’s bags from Master Dooku’s apartment and settled the former Sith into Obi-Wan’s apartment. Anakin came home to find the red-skinned visitor firmly planted on the living room sofa. He raised an eyebrow at his master, but it was Maul’s reaction that was the more dramatic of the two. He would recognize that yellow tint to the boy’s eyes anywhere. He furrowed his tattooed brow in sorrow and consternation.

“Anakin, did you meet Maul? I guess he’s Uncle Maul to you, now.” Obi-Wan chuckled. The absurdity of this situation was delightful.

Anakin regarded the visitor for a long moment before extending his hand. “Anakin Skywalker.”

Maul smiled at him and invited him to sit next to him on the sofa. Obi-Wan put on the kettle for tea before joining them. “I’ve heard a lot about you from your Nana, Anakin. There are lots of images of you on the walls in the Kenobi family home on Stewjon, so I feel like I know you better than I actually do. That’s why I’m concerned to see your eyes turning yellow. I was still almost a baby when my mother was manipulated into giving me up to join the Sith Order; I didn’t have a choice. You don’t seem to have a choice either, seeing how your brain is being hijacked. If you had chosen consciously to be a Sith, I would try to dissuade you, because I know from experience that it’s a bad idea, but this is really worrisome because it’s happening against your will. With your master’s permission, I’d like to enter into joint meditation with you—and your master, of course—to see the mechanism. Hate and anger make you feel strong and are intoxicating, but they consume you until there’s nothing left of you as a person. It’s taken me a long time to recover.”

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan, eyes wide in alarm, but Obi-Wan nodded as he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you. I’ll be there to monitor it, and besides, Maul is a Kenobi now. I’m pretty sure he’s smarter than trying to attack us inside the Jedi Temple, where he’d be hopelessly outnumbered. He can help you. Let him into your mind.”

Anakin closed his eyes and did as he was told, the continued presence of his master’s hand on his shoulder being the convincing factor. He opened his mental shields to let Maul into the Tatooine desert, where he knew the former Sith would recognize Padme, and let him climb over the rock face into the weed-choked valley with the tame Krayt dragon. To his relief Obi-Wan followed Maul into his mind. Anakin felt Maul wince at the sight of Darth Sidious preparing drugged meat for the dragon as he crept around the thick vegetation, avoiding detection.

When Maul was satisfied at his probing of Anakin’s mind, he entered Obi-Wan’s mind, entering the rain forest first, then picked his way across the sandy beach, and finally approached the inner sanctum, where Obi-Wan’s failures and traumas replayed endlessly. Maul was amazed to find this feature in common with his own mindscape. With this kind of inner life Obi-Wan could be a powerful Sith master if he so chose, but of course he never would. Maul winced again to see himself appear prominently as a source of deep trauma. He noticed that there was something distorted about not just his own face in those images, but about Qui-Gon as well. He would remember that face, those Ataru moves, that swishing hair for the rest of his life. Aside from Obi-Wan himself, Maul was the only person alive who had been there. He was fairly confident in his assessment that the images were being slowly corrupted, and that the distortions bore his brother’s Force signature.

As a final step, Maul let the master and padawan pair into his own mind. The harsh natural landscape of Dathomir, dark, miasmic swamps, and images of a hooded Darth Sidious brandishing whips, his own mother holding a dagger in one hand and a club in the other, the Battle of Naboo, and the painful time between his injury and the attachment of his mechanical legs swirled together in a dizzying maelstrom. Obi-Wan noticed that his own face was distorted into a terrifying scowl. He was fairly sure that he did not look like that. Poor Maul, his life had been quite miserable, judging by these images.

The three emerged from their mind-sharing meditation rather short of breath. Obi-Wan got up to make them another pot of tea. “My brother, Savage, thinks that Senator Amidala and Obi-Wan are a couple.” Maul realized, with a start, that he had never used Obi-Wan’s first name before, at least, not in his presence. “He’s also fixated on Naboo because we have a cultural belief as Nightbrothers about avenging our own on the site of their deaths. He thinks I’m dead or at least dead to him, and that you did this to me on Naboo, so he’ll want to lure you to Naboo to kill you. It was lucky for him that you’re on friendly terms with Senator Amidala.”

“I see. In other words, we spring the trap.” Obi-Wan smiled. As much as he criticized Anakin and Qui-Gon for their recklessness, he himself was not exempt. Anakin had learned that behavior from somewhere, after all. Maul also smiled, then all three burst into laughter.

“Wizard! Padme would enjoy that. She loves a good romp with a blaster, too. That’s what we like about her.” Anakin’s grin was suspiciously bashful as Maul realized who it was who actually had a crush on the beautiful young senator.

“And Master Dooku. He’ll be insulted if we don’t invite him.” Obi-Wan made the whole enterprise sound like a party. Perhaps it was, from a certain point of view. Maul shook his head in wonderment. Crazy Jedi.


	49. Return to Naboo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan gives Padme the green light. Maul gets sucked into Obi-Wan's lineage craziness. Maul and Obi-Wan are trauma buddies, because it really does take a pathetic lifeform.

“This is a bad idea, but I’m inexplicably in favor of it,” sighed Master Dooku as the group disembarked inside Theed spaceport. “Poor Mace, having to sign off on yet more crazy schemes initiated by my lineage descendants.”

“I’m glad you are, because I’m having fun already.” Padme was smirking as she patted the twin blasters at her hips. How someone who always traveled with an obscene amount of luggage and five different outfits plus accessories for every occasion could also enjoy stealth combat was a mystery indeed. Her outfit for this particular misadventure was stylish, of course, all burgundy crushed velvet and gold trim, but still action-oriented enough to let her be just as reckless as the Jedi.

“Now I see why I was doomed last time I jumped into a battle here.” Maul eyed her, then shifted his gaze to the three Jedi. With Padme in charge of the other side, he had not even stood a chance. Knowing what he now knew about the leadership structures and succession strategies within the Sith Order, it was clear to him that the Battle of Naboo had been a test that he was not expected to survive. He _had_ survived, however, and that was the beginning of the real trouble.

Padme led the way through the corridors and domed chambers of the palace, the guards smiling and saluting her at every turn. She knew this building better than anyone, after all. Maul and Obi-Wan exchanged glances whenever they passed into a new chamber, taking in the marble pillars and floors, the bronze statues, the damask tapestries and curtains. Neither had been focused on these things the last time they took this route, although Obi-Wan had gotten more chances to see the palace after his master’s death. On the other hand, he had been so busy with red tape that he had hardly noticed the sumptuousness around him. Anakin remembered the palace better, having been a child easily impressed by his surroundings. He had vowed to himself that he would live here with Padme someday. That was a silly childhood dream, but his dream of kissing her had come true, so who knew.

Maul stopped in his tracks and held his head in his hands when they reached the connecting passageway to the Plasma Refinery Complex. No matter how many years and how many hours of mind-healers’ appointments he had put between his present self and the traumatic events that had unfolded here, Maul still found this place difficult. It occurred to him that part of that was the Force-residue of the fear, anger, hatred, and determination he had felt here, but another part was quite possibly due to proximity to Savage and his black magic. A quick glance at Obi-Wan revealed that his dueling partner from that day all those years ago was also finding this place difficult. Maul realized that he was not the only one troubled by nightmares from that battle.

Master Dooku put one hand on each man’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get on with it. You’re both making your ninth step to each other, you know. Plus to everyone who was affected in any way by that battle.”

Obi-Wan shook his head and flashed one of his sad little smiles. Leave it to Master Dooku to be relentlessly practical and yet passionately unemotional. He gestured to Padme to go on. Anakin watched his master with interest. During the original Battle of Naboo, Anakin had been airborne, after all.

“If memory serves, these laser gates open every seven minutes. I know, because I did my research before our last battle here.” Maul stood before the transparent pink film, waiting for it to clear. Padme looked almost impressed at his knowledge and memory, while Master Dooku chuckled. Maul would have made a decent Jedi.

This time, they worked their way down slowly, with Padme in the lead. It was surreal for Obi-Wan to be back here, with a hand on Maul’s shoulder, no less. “I hope you brought your impressive double-bladed lightsaber. I’ll never forget the shock and awe of seeing that for the first time.”

“Of course I did. My weapon is my life, after all.” Maul made a serious face, but the three Jedi began chuckling, causing the former Sith’s frown to deepen. He had not said anything deliberately humorous.

“That’s exactly what we Jedi are taught.” Obi-Wan finally explained. They had more in common than he had originally assumed. “Are you hearing this, Anakin?” Obi-Wan gave Anakin a gentle poke in the ribs. For his part, Anakin was busy leaking unabashed admiration for Padme through his sloppily-erected mental shields. Obi-Wan had to wonder if he had been this obvious while on his own misadventures with Satine. That woman’s skill with a blaster and vibroblade had also been sexy.

Maul winced again when they finally reached the access point to the bottom of the melting pit, grabbing onto Obi-Wan’s arm to steady himself in a cruel twist of fate. The Force had a dark sense of humor. Savage’s Force presence was strong down here, as well. “Savage? Are you there?”

“Is that you, Maul? You brought those Jedi dogs with you? And the girl.” Savage emerged from the shadows, eyes gleaming the same shade of yellow as his skin. He spat on the ground in contempt of Padme.

Obi-Wan stepped forward, thinking to take responsibility for this whole mess. He was the target, the man suspected of being Padme’s lover, Maul’s would-be killer, certified pathetic lifeform. There was no need to get young Anakin mixed up in this as Padme’s actual illicit boyfriend.

“I believe your argument is with me.” Obi-Wan’s eyes shone blue in the half-light as he took another step closer to Savage.

“Did you drop this?” Savage held up Obi-Wan’s old lightsaber, taunting him with it. Anakin bristled at the blatant disrespect showed to his master, but Master Dooku held him back.

“Yes, in fact, I did. Along with the two halves of your brother. As you can see, he’s back in one piece and doing quite all right. There is no death to avenge, as Maul is very much alive.” Obi-Wan glanced at Maul.

“No death to avenge? What of your old master, Kenobi?”

“Revenge is not the Jedi way. I have long since forgiven Maul. I have reason to believe that he has mostly forgiven me, too.”

“Is this true, Maul? For shame!” Savage jumped forward, still brandishing Obi-Wan’s old lightsaber, but it was obvious that he was completely untrained in its use.

“I have renounced the Dark Side and gained so much. It’s not too late, Savage. Join me, and free yourself from the shackles of hate and anger. Don’t believe Darth Sidious and his lies. He betrayed me, training other apprentices the whole time, hedging his bets, and he’s betraying you, too.”

“I know he wants to turn Kenobi, that he’s the ultimate prize. I won’t let him, though, because you and I together are going to kill him right here, right now, to finish what you started!”

“No!” Maul shouted. Five years ago, three years ago, he would have wholeheartedly agreed, but his life and priorities had changed. He no longer believed that he would be the Sith master someday, and what was more, he no longer wanted to be. What he wanted was a quiet life on Stewjon with the woman he loved—a Kenobi.

“Then you are lost!” Savage made a lunge toward his own brother, but Maul unclipped his double-bladed lightsaber and parried the attack, twirling and leaping about wildly. The remaining Jedi also readied their lightsabers, while Padme grabbed her blasters. Since the whole idea was to save Savage from the delusions planted by Darth Sidious, none of them were prepared to kill him. It took much more skill to disarm and capture alive than to kill, anyway. Three blue, one green, and a double-bladed purple lightsaber flashed in the space, the colors reflecting off of the machinery. It was rather beautiful; it gave Padme an idea for a new dress. That would have to wait.

 _This is a trap, of course it’s a trap, we’re springing it deliberately. And yet. I’ve got a bad feeling about this._ Obi-Wan caught some movement up above out of the corner of his eye. Savage would make a surprisingly easy target for a sniper, in spite of the fancy lightsaber battle, because it was Maul who was leaping and twirling about, while Savage was largely stationary. Master Dooku’s Makashi and Anakin’s Djem So made them rapidly-moving targets, while even Obi-Wan’s own blend of Ataru and Soresu would make him hard to shoot with a blaster.

Padme was a reasonably good shot, but it seemed unlikely that she could disarm a professional assassin. Obi-Wan saw a pair of dark eyes gleam high up above. _Jango Fett_. Padme must have seen him too, because she pointed her blaster toward him and fired, trying to disarm him. She missed, alerting the bounty-hunter to their awareness of his presence.

Another shot rang out in the Refinery, followed by a wild, feral howl from Savage and a cry of horror from Maul. The old blue lightsaber clattered to the floor, where Obi-Wan immediately picked it up out of habit. It was bittersweet to have it back. He would much rather have Qui-Gon back. Poor Maul had a fresh layer of trauma associated with this place now. Obi-Wan noted that the double-bladed lightsaber, while clearly the same weapon as before, was no longer red, but purple.

Something fell from up above as Jango Fett escaped. Obi-Wan had no interest in capturing him, since he knew the Mandalorian bounty hunter was only a hired gun with little or no personal stake in the matter. He stooped down again to pick up a vibroblade that had a small medallion welded to the tip of the handle. The crest on the medallion was vaguely familiar; where had Obi-Wan seen this before? He had seen plenty of Mandalorian armor and symbols in his life, but this was different.

Naboo security forces arrived to check on Padme, who gave them a quick briefing about the incident. Even though there was now a dead man on the floor, his presence had been unauthorized, and his killer was a long-gone professional. There was the question of what to do with the body. Maul was in two minds about this: either he could send the body back to his mother on Dathomir, although the unfeeling witch would not care; or he could have the body buried here, on Naboo. Bringing the body to Stewjon to bury did not make much sense. Maul was chary of cremation because of bitter memories of being made to inhale the ashes of dead Sith warriors in order to borrow their pain and trauma, which was yet more reason to turn his back on the Sith Order. As a violently-killed Force-sensitive and a Nightbrother, Savage’s ashes could be used for this Sith training practice, and Maul did not want his brother’s remains desecrated in this way.

Padme put in a call to the current queen, who gave permission for Savage to be buried on Naboo, with a proper funeral, no less. Maul insisted that the correct practice for ensuring that a dead Nightbrother would not return as an angry ghost to haunt the living was to have a private funeral with the next-of-kin and one witness. Master Dooku volunteered for this, as the Jedi with the least fraught history connected to Savage Opress and the Battle of Naboo. Obi-Wan and Anakin, having been combatants in that battle, would need to stay away if they wished to avoid being haunted. Padme was also banned from the funeral, as Nightbrothers’ services were traditionally men-only, as a last chance to exist independently of female influence and control.

“You can meet us at my lake house at Varykino.” Padme hugged Maul, to everyone’s surprise. “I want to give you at least one happy memory of my homeworld.”

As soon as they arrived at the lake house, Padme started a fire in the fireplace and ordered in fresh fruit. She showed Anakin the beach and made suggestive remarks about swimming. Obi-Wan pretended not to notice, but when Anakin used the Force to float fruit at dinner, he had to chuckle. The boy was awkward but adorable in his efforts to impress her. Obi-Wan had never taught Anakin how to flirt, having only learned himself by asking Satine what sort of behaviors and comments she wanted from him, but the boy was hilariously bad at it. Padme seemed to find Anakin’s ineptitude endearing rather than off-putting.

When Anakin excused himself to the fresher for the third time that evening to deal with his nerves, Obi-Wan sighed and sat down next to Padme. Her bare-top black dress did not help poor Anakin’s performance anxiety. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and began. “I’m not blind, Padme. Though I have tried to be, for Anakin’s sake, and for yours. Anakin has loved you since the day you met, in that horrible junk shop on Tatooine. He’s never even tried to hide it, though we don’t talk about it much directly. For years I pretended that I didn’t know. But now I encourage him to spend time with you, because it makes him happy. You make him happy, when nothing else truly does. My forbidden, secret marriage to Satine has definitely had a salutary effect on me, as I tried to be a better man who was worthy of her. I got her pregnant not once but twice, but I took responsibility as best I could. Master Yoda, Master Dooku, and some of my oldest friends in the Order know about it; it’s not completely secret. If Anakin decides to leave the Order when he is older, that is his decision, and if he decides to follow my example, I intend to support him fully in his choice, keeping him accountable for his actions, since he is still so young. That is why, even though attachment is against the Jedi Code, there is no need for either of you to try to go behind my back. I don’t disapprove. I intend to respect whatever decision you take, as long as it’s reasonable and responsible. Do I make myself clear?”

There were tears in Padme’s eyes. “You have no idea how relieved I am. I’ve been struggling with my feelings for Anakin, thinking it’s forbidden. I know he’s in love with me, and at eighteen he’s just barely old enough according to the laws of Naboo, but I wasn’t comfortable asking him to marry me. I can’t explain it, but I love that silly little boy from Tatooine, almost as if I’d been mind-tricked. I always have, it’s just that the kind of love has changed.”

Obi-Wan put his arm around her. This girl was only ten years younger than himself, but she was quite possibly going to be a daughter-in-law of sorts. In this moment he felt paternal towards her, although a casual outside observer would mistake the intent behind the gesture.

“If Anakin has you at his side as his wife, whether openly or in secret, I know he’ll be safe and well-guided. I trust you.”

Anakin came out of the fresher, still looking nervous. Padme grinned at him and gestured to him to sit down next to her. “I don’t understand it, I really don’t. I can’t explain how or why, but I love you more than anything or anyone in the galaxy. Anakin, your master has given us his blessing.”

“Really? We can have some Alderaanian cakes tonight?” Anakin’s grin twitched first to the left, then to the right. Both Padme and Obi-Wan knew when Anakin was only kidding. Obi-Wan chuckled and muttered something about his very young apprentice under his breath, but his eyes were narrowed into an affectionate crinkle.

“Yes, I suppose so. To celebrate.” Padme winked at both Jedi before wrapping herself around Anakin. “Anakin Skywalker, will you marry me?” she whispered into his ear as she tugged on the little nerftail at the back of his head. Anakin’s cocky but somehow quizzical grin evaporated into a look of surprise.

“What? You want to marry me? And you’re saying my master is okay with that?”

“I’m a married man myself, Anakin. I think I’ve treated you with more than enough hypocrisy already. Besides, you’re a little older now than I was when I married Satine, and you’ve known Padme for much longer than I knew Satine beforehand. I trust Padme to take proper care of you.”

“But what about the rules? Isn’t it against the Code?”

“Of course it is. But the way I see it, acknowledging and containing those natural feelings in a wholesome format leads to much less warped attachment patterns than torturing oneself with denial. If I learned anything from Qui-Gon, it was how to do the right thing, regardless of whether or not it was the officially-sanctioned thing. I’d rather you get married with me present at your wedding than have you sneak around all over the galaxy and isolate yourselves, especially with Sith running amok.”

Of course, Padme had a wedding dress in her luggage. Of course she did. Or so Obi-Wan thought, until Padme admitted that it was her grandmother’s dress from the wardrobe in one of the bedrooms of the lake house, which had been in her family for generations. The low-cut bodice was saved from being too risqué by the long sleeves and modest drape of the skirts, which were longer in the back, and the veil, which molded closely to Padme’s head, flaring out at the bottom. Anakin would not have noticed if Padme had expressed an intention to get married in a burlap bag, but Obi-Wan did appreciate the craftsmanship of the lace and beadwork on the dress. Even if they had to marry in secret, at least they could make it a beautiful memory. Satine never cared for finery for its own sake, seeing elaborate costumes as a political tool above all else, and had not spent her childhood dreaming of an expensive wedding.

The head of the village nearest the lake house came to officiate, while Obi-Wan served as the sole witness, unless one counted the holoprojection of Satine next to him. Anakin looked so happy that Obi-Wan nearly cried. All he really wanted from the galaxy was for his children—including Anakin—to be happy. If that meant breaking the law or the Jedi Code, so be it. Obi-Wan mused that he was much more over-attached to Anakin than he ever was to Satine. Romantic love and marriage were not the problem, as far as he was concerned. It did not matter to him whether Anakin was the Chosen One, either. The boy was his padawan, and that was enough to make him special. Obi-Wan made sure to take some holos for Shmi.

Anakin and Padme were swimming in the lake when Master Dooku and Maul turned up, fresh from Savage Opress’s funeral. Obi-Wan went out to meet them, not breathing a word of the wedding that had taken place that very morning, not out of an intent to deceive, but because it would be inappropriate. He did, however, produce the vibroblade from the folds of his tunic for closer examination. Seeing Maul staring at it with a look of intense concentration on his face stirred some memory inside Obi-Wan’s mind, and he gasped. Of course. The medallion in the glass case next to the Loag Dagger at the Galactic Museum had the same design.

“Why didn’t I think of this before?” It was Maul who spoke, as he came to the same conclusion as Obi-Wan at almost the same time. “Darth Meadd is Senator Hrod Milew, isn’t he?”

“Every nefarious incident over the past few years has involved Merisee in some way. Senator Milew is the Sith apprentice, I’m sure of it.” Obi-Wan agreed before frowning. “But how do we prove it?”

“There’s the rub.” The two agreed.

“Savage mentioned that Darth Sidious is obsessed with turning me to the Dark Side. Why? Why me? I’m just an ordinary knight.”

Maul’s eyes went wide, then he laughed. “You really believe you’re ordinary? If you’re just an average Jedi, then I’m the Queen of Naboo. My old master talked about you quite a lot even while I was training under him. He believed that you were the Chosen One, and that bringing you to the Dark Side would help him take over the galaxy.”

“But Anakin is the Chosen One.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to believe, but no, you’re it. The more I get to know you, the more I’m convinced it’s not possible to turn you. Perhaps it’s a case of never say never, after all, I didn’t think myself capable of falling to the Light Side, but somehow I don’t think my old master will succeed, at least, not directly. That’s probably why he’s hijacked Anakin, using my poor brother to do it.” Maul was thinking out loud now.

That night, neither man was surprised to find the other sitting on the porch, looking at the lake in the moonlight. Obi-Wan was more comfortable outside, away from his padawan’s illicit wedding night, but the main reason he was sitting on the lakeside porch in the middle of the night was nightmares. All of the trauma of the original Battle of Naboo had returned, plus the guilt and horror of years spent in blithe ignorance of the Sith master’s plans for him that were obvious in hindsight.

“Are you having the same nightmares as I am, about our duel on Naboo and Darth Sidious’ manipulation through substance addiction?”

“Same topics, anyway. It makes sense that you’re the only living person who knows exactly what my nightmares are like, but it’s still strange to be confiding in you. I could use a hit of spice, or at least a deathstick, right now.”

“Hey, call your sponsor.” Obi-Wan put a hand on Maul’s shoulder.

“You’re right. I need to respond appropriately to cravings.”

“Well, I guess I’m going back to bed. Good night, Maul.” Obi-Wan gave the other man a shoulder squeeze as he got up. Even knowing he would have more nightmares, he still needed sleep.

Sure enough, Obi-Wan dreamed about Senator Milew, dark blue skin set off by yellow-gleaming eyes, long dark hair gathered into a braid hanging down his back, as he brandished a red lightsaber whose black hilt contained an inset ruby, just like the Loag Dagger. Was it possible that Senator Milew was trying to revive the Loag Assassins cult by allying himself with the Sith?

* * *

“He’s kriffing _married_ , you know.” Argorria slurred a bit as she whined in the women’s locker rooms off the dojo, addressing no one in particular. Well, not quite no one. She had noticed Asajj Ventress, whose presence had prompted her to burst out with it.

“Who is?” Ahsoka asked.

“Obi-Wan. He’s not supposed to be kriffing _married_.” Argorria wiped sweat off of her montrals in an excessively-vigorous motion.

Master Ventress tried not to show any emotion outwardly, but she was surprised, to say the least. If this was true, it would explain a lot. On the other hand, whom Obi-Wan allowed to share his bed and his life was strictly his own business. As long as he did not let his entanglements interfere in his duties as a Jedi, there was very little she could say. Bant would know for certain, but Asajj Ventress was above rumor-mongering.

Besides, Argorria Motigora was clearly drinking again, even if she did try not to sometimes. She was in the habit of going to meetings sporadically, according to Ahsoka, whose training seemed to be increasingly Master Ventress’ job in Obi-Wan’s absence. It was truly not fair to the girl, who had been paired with a sober master originally, only to end up dealing with a drunk.

* * *

Obi-Wan sat up in bed and pinched the top of the bridge of his nose. The nightmares were tiresome, if expected. Seeing that place again where he had lost Qui-Gon brought back all sorts of traumatic memories, which blended together with the fact of his birth father’s recent death. Maul had been there for that, while Obi-Wan had not. His father, who had also been an alcoholic, as was his grandfather before him. Obi-Wan had been born this way, doomed to be a pathetic lifeform. Not only that, but even his Jedi lineage doomed him to drink. The signs were clear in hindsight that Qui-Gon had been scarred by Master Dooku’s drinking. This informed the way Qui-Gon had brought up his own padawans, Obi-Wan included.

All these years later, Qui-Gon was still gone. It was a comfort to have his old lightsaber back, but it, too, carried a lot of memories. It was a good thing that Qui-Gon had not lived to see Obi-Wan’s descent into full-blown alcoholism. Given his history as Master Dooku’s padawan, seeing his apprentice succumb to the same darkness would be torture for the man Obi-Wan still loved as a father—his real father.

By the same token, Obi-Wan remembered well how he had dealt with his grief at Qui-Gon’s loss last time. This time, he was mourning a man he had never properly known beyond a gurgling, babbling dementia patient. Who had his birth father really been, before alcoholism and then alcoholic dementia claimed him? Was he a man Obi-Wan would have been proud to call “Dad”? Did it even matter? Would Obi-Wan’s own children feel as conflicted about him when they were older?

He liked to think he had learned healthier coping strategies through his time at recovery meetings and with Master Dooku shepherding him through the early stages of sobriety, but this was a major test. He had two years now. It was tempting to think that he might no longer be an alcoholic, but that was impossible. This was not fair, but nobody promised him that life would be fair. Pathetic lifeform. On the other hand, perhaps it was an asset to be a pathetic lifeform, if it made him kinder and more compassionate towards others. If he were to reach under his bed and find a bottle, he was not at all certain that he would manage not to drink from it. Once he did, the floodgates would open and he would drown. He knew that much. And yet. All he could think about was stifling those nightmares with a good, stiff one, preferably rum or utoz. Maul was braver in that he admitted to his craving.

Despite the hour, Obi-Wan reached for Master Dooku over their training bond. _Call your sponsor_. It was good advice that he was happy to share. Obi-Wan had already tried reciting the Jedi Code to himself like he had done at countless meetings over the years, but there was nothing like a good pep talk from one’s sponsor.

“Yes, Obi-Wan? A craving? I’m not surprised. Don’t center on your anxieties, padawan. Remember your rock bottom, then multiply that by fifty. Does the prospect of drinking again still seem appealing? No? I shouldn’t think so. Now go back to sleep.”

Master Dooku was really the perfect sponsor for Obi-Wan. Sometimes the truth hurt, but Master Dooku had a way of administering it that felt like a bacta patch being ripped off of an infected wound: obviously salutary and only painful in the moment. Half-measures availed us nothing, Obi-Wan reminded himself. The Supreme Chancellor, not being a Jedi, had taken a molly-coddling approach, perfectly engineered to help Obi-Wan develop a drinking problem and guide him deeper into addiction. This had surely been intentional, if he was indeed Darth Sidious, as Obi-Wan suspected him to be. Obi-Wan drunk would have been easier to manipulate, just as Maul high on spice and deathsticks would have been. But how would they prove that these powerful figures in the Senate and Republic government were actually Sith plotting to take over the galaxy? Who would trust the words of a pair of recovering addicts—the ultimate in pathetic lifeforms—over those of a senator and chancellor? A difficult problem this is indeed, as Master Yoda would say.


	50. Kenobi Craziness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was indeed a plot to delete Kamino from the Archives. Obi-Wan and Maul get into mischief together. Obi-Wan is a cool dad.

All told, Maul ended up spending thirty days at the Jedi Temple after their misadventure on Naboo, serving as Sith consultant, going to the Jedi mind-healers, participating in recovery group meetings—of which there were many on Coruscant—and spending a lot of time at the Halls of Healing learning techniques. He was even granted temporary access codes at the Archives, for which Obi-Wan had to endorse him. Maul was frankly horrified at how little accurate information about the Sith was to be found at the Archives. There were some scholarly works about the early history of the Sith Order, but nothing much about more recent nefariousness.

When brought before Master Yoda for a therapeutic meditation session, Maul was a bit alarmed to find the ancient green master surrounded by padawans and younglings. Even the academies for young Sith took great pains to isolate students from each other; there was nothing remotely similar to these group classes. Worse, he found himself being mobbed by the older children while the youngest crechelings simply burst into tears at the sight of him—even the Zabrak youngsters.

“Hmm, met you at last I have. Dead you were supposed to be, but helpful you have been. Peace, eludes you does it?”

“Yes, Master.” With prompting from Obi-Wan, Maul bowed his head, the result of which was that his horns were at Master Yoda’s eye level.

“Poke my eye out you must not.”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

Master Yoda chuckled. “The Chosen One you believe Obi-Wan to be, rather than Anakin, hmmh?”

“My former master and the other Sith apprentices I have known have all shared this opinion. The Chosen One is supposed to bring balance to the Force, and Obi-Wan has learned to balance the Living and Unifying Force rather well, I should say. His creative take on your Code might be another factor.”

Master Yoda gave a snort. “Creative approach to the Code, he has, indeed, if by that broken most of the tenets you mean.”

“I don’t regret the choices I made, not even my mistakes, because I’ve learned and grown because of them, and I’m more than prepared to take responsibility in any way you deem appropriate, including expulsion.” Obi-Wan interjected.

“Expelled you will not be, if the Chosen One you are. Expelled Anakin will not be, either, for following your questionable guidance. Not his fault it is, that trained by heretics he was.” Obi-Wan was lucky to be sitting out of range of the gimmer stick, which rose threateningly.

Master Yoda turned his attention back to Maul. “Enter into joint meditation, we will. Understand your trauma, we must.” Obi-Wan assumed that he was also supposed to join in, but the gimmer stick rose again, quickly disabusing him of that notion. He realized that he had been earmarked for guard duty.

Maul tried not to flinch as the ancient Jedi master poked at the mostly dormant remains of his training connection with his old master. It was not the same vine-like organic structure as a Jedi training bond, but more like a steel cable, with blue lightning flashing around it when poked. Master Yoda knew that he would have to be very careful not to alert the Sith master to his efforts, but this was so interesting. He could see the after-images of years of torture and abuse, not to mention traumatic meditation exercises designed to increase pain and rage. It made him very sad to see some of the memories from when Maul was crecheling-aged. There were hardly any memories of his birth family except for painful ones, a strong sense of abandonment towards his birth mother, who had protested his being taken from her but not fought to get him back, and the deaths of his two brothers, both instigated by Darth Sidious. The original Battle of Naboo also appeared in detail, largely matching what Master Yoda had seen in security holofootage and in Obi-Wan’s memories.

When they finished, there were tears streaming down Maul’s face and Master Yoda seemed rather tired. Obi-Wan began to wish that he had brought a thermos of tea, which he would share. In the past he had never left his room without his thermos, but that was because he needed the brandy to stave off the shakes. It never would have occurred to him to share his tea at that time.

Maul did not see the young Togruta girl enter the gardens and approach Obi-Wan, who was sitting in the lotus position behind Maul. “Master Obi-Wan! I’m looking for my master. Have you seen her?”

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t. Where did you lose her, Ahsoka?”

“I—I didn’t lose her. She didn’t come home last night.”

Obi-Wan groaned inwardly. This could mean only one thing. This had happened on Tatooine, too. On the other hand, Obi-Wan himself had once been the wayward master. Master Dooku had found him and brought him home, then. If he went into the Outlander Club with Maul or Master Dooku or even Anakin, he would likely find her. He had said he never wanted to set foot in that establishment ever again, but if little Ahsoka needed her master retrieved, he could make a twelfth step there. Or simply send Garen or Bant to infiltrate.

“Oh, Ahsoka. I think you met Maul.” Maul turned around to face the girl, whom he recognized, to his surprise. It occurred to him that he knew quite a few Jedi personally now, besides Obi-Wan. All those years he had burned with a blind hatred of all Jedi and dreamed of exterminating them, and now he was surrounded by Jedi, by his own choice, no less.

“Hello there. Yes, I remember you. I remember your master, too.” Maul smiled at her, hoping that his smile would be reassuring rather than terrifying. There was quite a steep learning curve to being a nice person.

“Find her master, you should. Peace you may find in unexpected places.” Master Yoda closed his eyes, twitched his ears, and nodded at his own wisdom.

“Yes, Master.” Maul and Obi-Wan stood up in unison. Maul was still learning how to meditate with Light Side techniques, but he was sleeping better already. Obi-Wan had to stop and remind himself of the absurdity of living with Maul, being responsible for him within the Temple, and even meditating with him, instead of trying to kill him or avoid being killed by him.

“I have a good idea where she might be. The Outlander Club is one of the few establishments on Coruscant that serve hard liquor to Jedi. Force knows I spent a lot of time and credits there, sometimes singing for my supper quite literally when my tab exceeded my funds. All because of a Zabrak woman who would not shut up about how good your kisses were.”

“Womba.” Maul winced at the memory. “I would do anything for a hit of spice and a deathstick in those days. But she wouldn’t shut up about your singing, either.”

“Womba? I never knew her name.”

“Well, you do now. I wonder if she’s still there or if she’s dead.”

Ahsoka stared at the two men, not following the conversation. All she knew was that both adults had detailed knowledge of a hive of scum and villainy where they expected to find her master, which was not a little horrifying. Just five days ago, Master Argorria had been to a recovery meeting, but she seemed to be back to drinking now.

“Why don’t you stay here with Master Yoda, or go find Anakin, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan turned his attention to the girl. At thirteen she was old enough to understand the depravity of a place like the Outlander Club but too young to not let it bother her. It had been bad enough that he had had to let her enter Chalmun’s Spaceport Cantina on Tatooine the last time.

“Okay, Master Obi-Wan. I’ll look for Skyguy.”

Obi-Wan gave her a pat on the shoulder as a signal to run along, then caught Maul’s gaze and sighed. “Poor girl. Poor Anakin, too, having to live with me when I was acting like that.”

Sitting in the speeder in front of the Outlander Club, Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “If I start to order a drink for myself, whack me hard over the head. I’ll do the same for you if you try to buy a deathstick or a bag of spice.”

Maul smiled. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. I thought the day would never come that I would get another chance to whack you, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. The Force works in mysterious ways, eh?”

The minute the two men entered the Outlander Club, Womba gave a whoop. Never mind that she had never seen both of them together before, she was simply glad to get the men she considered her eye candy beaux back. Argorria was in the corner, slumped over, unconscious. It was not even happy hour yet, so there were few patrons.

“I missed both of you, you gorgeous hunks, you!” Womba flashed a mostly toothless grin. There were more splotches on her face than before, and the arteries and veins of her arms were clearly visible. “Do I get a kiss or a song?”

Obi-Wan and Maul glanced at each other. Singing to someone was not so bad, but Maul had actually kissed this woman. He was about to be sick at the very thought when Obi-Wan flashed that diplomatic smile of his and raised one hand in front of his face, drawing attention to his very persuasive dimples. “We’re here to pick up a friend. You want to leave us to it.”

“You’re here to pick up a friend. I want to leave you to it.” She grinned even wider, a stupid air of satisfaction hovering about her eyes, as Obi-Wan knelt by Argorria. He beckoned to Maul, who coordinated with him to lift the knight up to her feet. She was not really capable of walking, but the two men could take her out to the speeder if they worked together. First things first, though, Obi-Wan propped her up against the bar to settle her bill from the night before.

“What did you do to Womba back there?” Maul sat in the passenger seat, although he did turn his head every once and a while to make sure Argorria was still alive sprawled out over the backseat.

“That’s a Jedi mind trick. It only works on the weak-minded. You mean you Sith don’t do that?”

“I’m not a Sith anymore. Anyway, no, we don’t use such gentle methods. We worm our way into people’s minds and infect them like a cancer. You ought to know, it happened to you, after all.”

“Good point. It was strange to be confronted by my past back there.” Obi-Wan entered into a pensive mood.

“Our past.” Maul reminded. For better or for worse, the two of them had a lot in common and an intricately intertwined past.

* * *

Senator Bail Organa rubbed his nose. He had not expected to get quite so much resistance on the Senate floor from Senator Hrod Milew of Merisee when he introduced his bill to allow the young clones to immigrate to Alderaan. Granted that the very existence of the cloned boys was not well-known, it made very little sense to him that the senator who was to billet and feed the clones would be so adamant about bringing them to Merisee when they would be a cost. The agriculture on that planet was largely industrialized and automated, with little need for human workers. Would not the senator for a planet that was being asked to shoulder such costs instead try his darnedest to deflect the expensive burdens to other planets?

He caught the eye of young Senator Amidala, whose pod was next to his. She also had a look of consternation on her face, as did Senator Mon Mothma, whose pod was on his other side. Even Stewjon had warmed to the idea of accepting at least some of the clones, and yet Merisee was refusing to give up any of them. Most peculiar.

* * *

Darth Sidious should really feel more powerful, what with the increase in his anger levels recently. He had hoped that Savage and Maul would kill each other, the victor serving as a useful tool to continue infiltrating Kenobi and Skywalker’s brains through Dathomiri magic, with Jango Fett providing his professional services, but that had gone quite wrong. At least everyone involved had had the decency to keep Mother Talzin in the dark, since that woman’s wrath was not easily deflected. Her grievances were largely legitimate, which was a bit of a bother.

It was good of Maul to resurface, but very disappointing to find him in league with Kenobi. That man was truly a menace, a cancer spreading his Light. His consistent failure to relapse was quite tiresome. Even his recent reappearance with Maul at the Outlander Club, which had delighted the deathstick-addled sister of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s staffer, had been a major disappointment.

He could only hope that Darth Meadd would not prove weak and inadequate like the others. His need for blood to be shed in pain, fear, and anger for his own Loag Assassin cult revival had made him cooperative in designing and producing the clone army, which he was now doing his best to keep under his control. It was downright embarrassing that a little upstart girl of twenty-three, from Naboo, no less, was getting in the way, dragging other senators into her plot with her.

* * *

Jedi Knight Rissy Obath stared at the computer screen at the Archives. Why was there nothing about Kamino? Her class of junior padawans were studying the Outer Rim, and she needed to refresh her own memory in order to create a lesson plan. Now that her padawan had left the Order to go back to her birth family and claim her position as a princess, Knight Obath had decided to apply to teach junior padawan courses rather than take on a new padawan right away. She missed her padawan, but had to admit that the girl was not really suited to Jedi life, given the way she used to torment poor Padawan Skywalker.

Oh, that’s right. The Zeltron Knight Obath hung her head in shame. When she was a junior padawan herself, she had hacked into the Archives system and deleted Kamino as a prank. She was trying to cause trouble for a boy in her class, in the hope that he would be forced to ask her for help. Despite his funny name, he was simply gorgeous with his blue eyes and ginger hair, but completely oblivious to his own good looks and keen intelligence. He actually thought he was the worst in the class, even though his grades were the second best, after that annoyingly perfect blonde human girl. What was her name, again? Oh, right, Siri Tachi. Even though Knight Obath had been obsessed with that boy, now she could not even remember his name.

The lack of information on Kamino had come back to bite her in the end. There was nothing for it but to come clean about what she had done. Perhaps she could give the cybersecurity team a few pointers. Rumor had it that many committees and even the Council itself kept the same passwords for years, even centuries at a time.

Knight Obath approached Madam Jocasta Nu at the information counter, head hung in shame. “Master? I have a confession to make.”

“Rissy Obath? Is that you? What did you do?” Madam Nu looked up, a pinched expression settling over her nose and mouth.

“Yes, it’s me, Rissy Obath. I need to confess to having hacked into the system and deleted all information about a certain planet.”

“Oh? Somehow I never pegged you as the type who would do that. Among your agemates Bruck Chun or Quinlan Vos, maybe Xanatos in an older cohort, yes, but not you. This must have been when you were a young padawan, yes?”

“Yes, it was. It was maybe twenty years ago, because I think I was thirteen or fourteen. I was trying to force a particular boy to come to me for help. It’s a stupid trick, and it didn’t work. I’m sorry.”

Madam Nu reached for her stylus and for a moment Knight Obath thought she was going to receive a rap across the knuckles, but instead Madam Nu merely made a note on a piece of flimsi. “What was the name of the planet? What was the name of the boy?”

“The planet was Kamino. I forget the name of the boy, but he was incredibly good-looking, at least, I thought so at the time. I lost track of him, but maybe you remember him. Blue eyes, ginger hair.”

“Probably Obi-Wan Kenobi, then. You might be interested to hear that your trick did work, because he was in quite a tizzy about Kamino some years ago. I thought for certain he was hallucinating there having been such a planet because it wasn’t in the Archive database, but you were responsible all along. He’ll be glad and mortified in equal measure, but his padawan will enjoy the story, for sure.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi. That was his name. It should not be a surprise that he now had a padawan, since he must also be thirty-three or thirty-four, but Knight Obath could not imagine him as a grown man. She lost track of him after he left the Order to join the civil war on Melida/ Daan. It was a bit of a relief to think that he had returned to the Order and taken a padawan, since it was hard to picture a boy better suited to becoming a Jedi master. She had to smile at the thought.

* * *

“Ben, are you crazy! How can you suggest such a thing!” Satine’s voice was a bit lost to the static marring the transmission, but her indignation was not. She only had herself to blame, having mentioned to her husband that she had heard Senator Milew was going back to Merisee to campaign ahead of the election. Satine knew better than most just how harebrained the schemes that emerged from Kenobi men’s brains could be. Of course Ben would suggest an undercover mission to Merisee not just for himself, but for poor Korkie as well, even though the boy was not even a Jedi.

Korkie came into the room and overheard part of Ben’s pitch, making it worse. His Mandalorian half made him proud, high-minded, idealistic, and rather more martial than his mother liked, while his Kenobi half made him just crazy enough to entertain such a notion seriously. Growing up he was not as reckless as his father had been as a teenager, but now that he was eighteen he seemed to think it was his business to catch up to his parents. Satine could only sigh and pinch the top of the bridge of her nose, which was already exceptionally narrow.

“Korkie’s not a Jedi, he’s a civilian, so he won’t attract suspicion. He can pretend he’s traveling the galaxy during his gap year before enrolling in university. I’d be with him, too, and we’re so obviously related that it would look natural. There’ll be other Jedi there for backup, including Anakin. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to my own son, and I won’t let him kill anybody. You remember when I was responsible for protecting you. I didn’t let anything bad happen to you, did I?”

“That’s why I’m worried. I still have that scar. Madcap misadventures were all right for me when I was a teenaged orphan, but we’re older and presumably wiser now, Ben. We’re also Korkie’s parents.”

“Precisely. The boy will be safe with me, I’m his dad. Besides, he’s a Mandalorian boy, he needs some kind of adventure to be recognized as a real man, and I’d rather be there to supervise it.”

“That’s the Anakin Skywalker Principle, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose so, from a certain point of view.” Ben chuckled, deliberately creating dimples. Satine knew exactly what he was doing, but cursed herself for still being susceptible.

“Damn you, Ben, I’m going to regret this, but you have my agreement. Just make sure Korkie comes home alive, in one piece. We’ll both be wrinkled and grey by the time this is over.”

As soon as she shut off the transmission, Satine turned around to face her son, whom she knew to be eavesdropping. “Yes, Korkie, you’re allowed to go on that crazy, dangerous adventure with your dad.”

“And Anakin is going to be there, too. I’m not completely untrained in Mandalorian combat techniques. I’ll be sensible, Mother.”

In public Korkie continued to refer to her as Aunt Satine, but in private he now acknowledged their true relationship. Anakin could possibly pass as his brother or at least his cousin, given his blue eyes, now often green, and blond curls, although his padawan cut might give him away as a Jedi. On the other hand, if he was part of the backup team, it might not matter. The idea of being able to call his father “Dad” in public was thrilling. Besides, it was not a lie that he was going to enroll at university to study politics and diplomacy, although he was planning on entering the Royal Academy on Mandalore. The gap year element of the cover story was largely true—from a certain point of view. If he claimed he was planning on studying agriculture and commerce, that would be even more logical. Of course, it might not come to that at all.

The day Korkie arrived on Coruscant for his briefing, Obi-Wan and Anakin were there at the main Coruscant spaceport to meet him. That was when Korkie realized that this mission, or at least his involvement in it, might be unauthorized. Anakin looked from father to son and back again, then shook his head. “You look more and more like your dad every day. Just, don’t dress exactly alike, and don’t even think about growing a beard, or I won’t be able to tell you apart. You already have almost the same haircut. How you expect to hide your relationship in the Temple is beyond me.”

“He’s your dad, too, you know—from a certain point of view. You’ve lived together long enough to sort of look alike.”

Obi-Wan laughed and put one hand on each boy’s shoulder. He was clearly overjoyed to have his two boys in one place. Korkie would want to see Deltine in the creche, for sure. Master Dooku, Master Windu, and probably Master Yoda would want to know about Korkie’s involvement. Now that the boy was here, it would be harder for them to disallow it. That was the plan. Obi-Wan smirked to himself.

Master Dooku shook his head when he saw Obi-Wan and Korkie together. “You’re bringing your son. It’s crazy, reckless, dangerous, and classically Kenobi behavior. I don’t understand why I’m surprised. Maybe I should be part of your backup team. That’s what a grandfather is for.”

When they were in the creche with little Deltine, Garen popped his head in, hoping to see Obi-Wan about something and knowing that his friend was often in the creche at this hour, and stopped dead in his tracks. That boy looked like a ghost from their padawan days. Garen quite forgot whatever it was he had wanted to discuss. The family resemblance to Deltine was clear enough, but it was even more obvious with Korkie. “Obi, I hope you’re not going to drag your boy into some cockamamie misadventure. You would, too. Poor kid. And is that your old lightsaber clipped to his belt? For shame, Obi! The boy’s not even a Jedi. How can you do that to him!”

Korkie unclipped the lightsaber and took a closer look at it. He could understand the concept of a lightsaber being its owner’s life, since Mandalorian warriors had a similar mentality. This would be a piece of his father, of his parents’ love story, since this was the very lightsaber his father had used to protect his mother. This would be more of a ceremonial heirloom to him than an actual weapon.

Obi-Wan found Master Yoda and Master Windu together in a secluded part of the Temple gardens. He did not have to say anything as he wrapped one arm around each of his boys, proud grin eating up his face, creating dimples that were almost a caricature of their usual selves. “This is my son, Korkie Kryze. I thought he would be an asset to our party as we reinvestigate Merisee, without getting hamstrung by the senator’s aides and their silly itineraries. He’s not Force-sensitive, so that cave won’t affect him. We can just be a normal, civilian family traveling before the boys start university.”

Mace Windu rubbed his temples, trying to forestall the headache that Obi-Wan Kenobi and his particular brand of crazy always brought on. The man was almost bolder sober than drunk. The three of them certainly did look like a family. Civilian disguises would further the effect. If they added Master Dooku into the mix they would look even more like a family; it was this thought that gave Master Windu an idea.

“I think I know whom I’m assigning as your mission partners. Two master-padawan pairs plus Master Dooku and Korkie ought to be more than enough personnel. A female knight and her padawan could pose as your wife and step-daughter.”

“That’s the spirit!” Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkled in delight, then in confusion. Wait a minute. Asajj Ventress and Alema Han would be a good, trustworthy pair, but Alema was not a padawan anymore. Who would be the other pair? Siri and her padawan? It might be awkward to pose as Siri’s husband, although she was a blonde who could conceivably pass as Anakin’s mother or aunt. But Siri’s padawan was a boy.

At the spaceport waiting for the second master-padawan pair, Obi-Wan was about to say, “I have a bad feeling about this,” when two Togruta women approached their transport. Of course. Argorria Motigora and her padawan, Ahsoka Tano, would be a logical choice, at least on paper, but Obi-Wan’s heart sank. He was more than willing to be her sober buddy, even share his sponsor, but she had to want to be sober, even if cast into a sea of utoz.

“Dad? What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?” Korkie whispered.

“Of course I do. I worry about them, that’s all.” Obi-Wan was not about to plant any preconceived notions in the boy’s head.

“But you don’t worry about me?”

“No, I don’t. I have faith in you. Besides, I fully intend to protect you if the mission goes south. They’re Jedi, they’re supposed to make some effort to look out for themselves. Different set of standards.”

Anakin was already smiling at Ahsoka but ignoring her master. “Snips!” The girl smiled to see her favorite master-padawan pair in the galaxy.

“Skyguy! Master Obi-Wan!” She ran up to them and threw her arms around Obi-Wan before noticing Korkie standing next to the ginger knight. “Who’s this? He looks just like Master Obi-Wan. Is he the boy from the holos on Mrs. Kenobi’s wall on Stewjon?”

Argorria was staring daggers at the young man. She had already recognized him from the images she had seen. She had no argument with the boy himself, but his very existence was proof of another woman having claimed Obi-Wan as her own, which was an unbearable fact. The idea of there having been a woman who not only touched Obi-Wan but bore him a son filled her with jealousy, despite her best efforts to release her anger into the Force. Some Jedi she was.

Master Dooku took in the complicated interpersonal relations going on around him, but did not really care or understand. They were all professionals, except for Korkie, but he was a Mandalorian, not to mention Obi-Wan’s son, so they should be able to get over themselves. Argorria would be the weak link, especially on a planet like Merisee.

“Come on, into the ship.” As de facto mission leader Obi-Wan snapped everyone out of their reveries. They would all have to look sharp.


	51. The Battle of Merisee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Korkie finds himself providing backup as his dad battles Sith while Argorria fights her own battles. Obi-Wan finds sudden and dramatic change in his life. Never operate a speeder while drunk on utoz.

“Kriff Mace Windu, the barve! How can he expect the two of us to keep watch over Argorria and play the alcoholic hide-and-seek game and fight Sith at the same time! And drag padawans into it, too. Kark.” Obi-Wan said nothing aloud, but Master Dooku heard him loud and clear over their training bond.

“Language, padawan.” Master Dooku’s eyes gleamed in the resigned amusement he used to cover his concern. “Now you know how Anakin felt going on missions with you all those years.”

Korkie and Anakin had settled back into an easy camaraderie, with Ahsoka asking Korkie all kinds of questions about Mandalore, with Anakin teasing both. Korkie was the only one of the three who was completely unguarded, which Obi-Wan knew was not because he was the only non-Jedi on the ship.

Argorria had locked herself into the fresher. There was only one fresher for both men and women, and although he was aware that women tended to take longer than men, Obi-Wan was willing to bet good Republic credits that she was engaging in non-standard activities in there. He was not eager to fall into the trap of trying to catch her drinking or looking for her stash. It was a good thing Master Dooku was there, too, because he was not entirely certain that he would not join her. It was important to stay humble and vigilant. Recovery meetings were full of alcoholics who admitted that they had relapsed when they thought they were beyond temptation.

Obi-Wan dug out his old mission report from the last time he had been to Merisee, both the official version and the classified version he had created for Master Windu. He should probably share it with the others. All of the other mission members—except maybe Ahsoka—should probably also hear the redacted bits involving utoz.

When Argorria finally came out of the fresher, she was a bit unsteady on her feet, but she quickly sat down and did her best to look alert and eager. This was as good a time as any. Obi-Wan shared both versions of his old mission report, plus images of the Loag Dagger from reference materials he had downloaded from the Archives, then took questions from the others.

Master Dooku then shared his own memories of that place, as the only other person in the group who had been there. Korkie’s bright blue eyes were wide the whole time. It occurred to Obi-Wan that he had once had the same wide-eyed, idealistically innocent air to him, although Jedi padawans tended to lose that early. Anakin, too, seemed horrified by the aspects of that mission that Obi-Wan had censored at the time, not to mention the unpleasantness Master Dooku had experienced. Anakin was eighteen and a married man now, he was old enough to know all the sordid details. Against his better judgment Obi-Wan let Ahsoka hear the whole thing, trying not to look at Argorria’s smirk. It was as if she were eager to share her own drunken misadventures. If she went to recovery meetings she could share there, instead.

Once they finally arrived, Obi-Wan made sure everyone was in their civilian disguises, lightsabers properly hidden. Dressed in similar colors, Obi-Wan and Korkie looked even more alike. Argorria was doing her best to look less drunk than she was, although the brightly-colored floral dress she wore did a good job of camouflaging her complexion. She might have done better to wear light green or yellow to blend in with the sea of late summer grain swaying gently in the late-afternoon breeze. Obi-Wan had chosen to land the ship on the other side of the land-bridge from the capital city, partly to keep Argorria away from that brewery and liquor stores in town, and partly because he had a hunch about the cave.

Ahsoka was impressed by the volcano itself. Anakin kept her close, falling into his role as older brother with a natural ease. Master Dooku was the odd man out in a sense, but was not implausible as the stern grandfather of the family. It did not matter out in the middle of nowhere. Argorria stood, smiling, as the breeze caressed her face, the cool air mitigating her nausea. Korkie shielded his blue eyes from the golden light that reflected off the shimmering grain, the sun’s last hurrah before nightfall. The tall grain was beautiful, of course, beyond being economically valuable, but it occurred to him that he and his father, not to mention Ahsoka, could comfortably hide in it. Master Dooku and even Anakin and Argorria were simply too tall. Argorria’s white and blue montrals would stick out and reflect the moonlight.

It was Argorria who tripped on the pair of shoes first. “Chssk,” she hissed, as she struggled to her feet. She did not consider what had happened to the owner of the shoes, but Korkie did. He was not Force-sensitive enough to feel details, which made his imagination run wild with all of the terrifying possibilities. This was not really a fun family holiday, after all. Anakin picked up a shoe, closed his eyes, and gasped. Its owner was not far from here, likely inside the cave itself. It would be easy to off someone in these fields without anyone being the wiser, and plying the victim with utoz first would make the whole enterprise even easier.

Obi-Wan’s fingers curled around his lightsaber hilt as he led the way to the entrance of the cave he had investigated before. The Force had felt heavy with pain and fear even at that time, when Obi-Wan had been intoxicated and the citadel still unused, but now the air was quickly darkening into an oppressive hue. It was twilight, and it was easy to imagine that the darkness would be complete in the absence of city lights.

Argorria hung back, fishing a flask out of her bra, taking a rather large mouthful, then speeding up to overtake the men. Ahsoka also hung back, resisting the urge to cling to somebody. At almost fourteen she felt too old to do that, but she was still too young to know that the adults were just as frightened as she was. At least, the sober adults were frightened. Argorria had liquid courage coursing through her veins.

Obi-Wan held out his arms to stop them from moving forward willy-nilly. He could feel a malevolent presence inside the cave, the Force signature familiar. How had he missed it before? Senator Milew had excellent shielding when he met him at that welcome party for Padme. That, or the man he met was not the real senator. Anything was possible when dealing with Sith. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and tried to access Maul. It was possible to form a very tentative connection to anyone with whom a Jedi—or former Sith, apparently—had meditated jointly. Ah, there he was. Maul was alert now. Anakin also had a weak connection to Maul, but his was even weaker because he had never fought the man directly.

Satisfied, Obi-Wan crept closer, using his connection to Maul as a mask, hoping that Darth Meadd would assume that the Dark Side Force presence he felt was his own, rather than a posse of Jedi sneaking up on him. As the sun went down and the fields surrounding the hulking black volcano sank into darkness, their eyes adjusted to the dark. The darkness would be their ally.

Obi-Wan entered the cave first, with Anakin and Korkie following right behind him, Argorria at a little distance behind them, with Ahsoka and Master Dooku bringing up the rear. Obi-Wan saw that there were two men in the cave, one tied up and barefoot, gagged and helpless, while the other held a dagger above him. _Oh. This is worse than I thought. The two men have the same face._

It dawned on Obi-Wan that one of the two men had a Force presence while the other did not, but they looked so much alike that it was not hard to imagine that they were brothers. The Force-sensitive brother was likely the Sith, while the other one was the real senator. The Sith had been impersonating his brother, keeping him prisoner to harvest his fear, blood, and pain in his effort to revive the ancient Loag Assassin cult. The man Obi-Wan had met might have been the real senator.

Right when Darth Meadd was about to plunge the dagger into the helpless figure, Anakin jumped out from behind Obi-Wan to stop him, drawing his blue lightsaber. “Anakin, no! Wait for the signal—oh, chssk.” Obi-Wan protested over their training bond, but it was too late. Darth Meadd looked up, fixed Anakin with a glare, and raised his hand. Obi-Wan knew that gesture.

Darth Meadd’s expression changed into one of confusion the next moment. He must have seen Anakin’s eyes flash yellow. With a cry of indignation that the Sith master had added another apprentice without telling him, he put the dagger down onto the altar and drew his red lightsaber instead of attacking Anakin with Force-lightning. Maul had explained once that Force-lightning did not work as well on fellow Sith.

Darth Meadd moved nimbly for a fake senator, but not as furiously as Anakin’s Djem So. Anakin did a fine job at cornering the man. Obi-Wan gave the signal to Korkie to free the captive with his Mandalorian vibroblade while Obi-Wan himself joined the fray, adding Ataru into the mix, but mostly containing the Sith with solid Soresu. Master Dooku provided cover for Korkie and Ahsoka as they worked to free the captive, who reeked of utoz.

It was at this point that Argorria took it upon herself to join in the action unbidden. Obi-Wan had not included her in his plans, thinking she would be most useful as sentinel guarding the entrance to the cave, but the woman was at least half-drunk and determined to match the men.

Once the prisoner had been untied and dragged to the opposite corner of the room with Korkie and Ahsoka standing guard over him, Master Dooku took it upon himself to cover the main entrance, keeping an eye on both the hallway and the action inside the cave. Anakin was young enough and powerful enough in the Force to keep up a steady onslaught; Obi-Wan noted with relief that his yellow eyes had faded back to green and he was consciously avoiding tapping into the Dark Side. Darth Meadd noticed his initial mistake in assuming Anakin to be a Sith and raised his hand once again. Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber in preparation to deflect the Force-lightning if Anakin missed it, but Anakin leaped out of the way just in time, so that the Force-lightning hit Argorria instead.

Before either of them had a chance to feel bad about it, she returned to brandishing her lightsaber wildly, her drunken erratic movements confusing and distracting their opponent just long enough for Anakin to impale Darth Meadd in the lower gut. He yowled angrily and redoubled his efforts, but Obi-Wan blocked him at every turn, seemingly everywhere at once. Anakin, being much taller than Darth Meadd, eventually landed another strike to his shoulder, slicing off his non-saber hand. The angrier the Sith got, the more powerful he felt, although he was clearly struggling more than before. He turned his angry eyes towards his brother, apparently planning to strike him with Force-lightning or at least a Force-choke, but Korkie noticed and ignited his father’s old lightsaber as a distraction. As long as he did not jump into the fighting, the Sith might not know that he was not a real Jedi.

Ahsoka had both of her lightsabers ready, but Korkie took the extra precaution of pulling a poison dart out of his tunic. Even as pacifists, Korkie and his mother still believed in the value of learning basic self-defense. The poison was not strong enough to kill a person but could distract an attacker long enough to allow victims to escape. Korkie launched the dart when Darth Meadd cast his eyes toward Anakin and hit him right in the neck. At that moment, Anakin landed a fatal blow to Darth Meadd, stabbing him in the heart, before pulling his lightsaber back out and slicing off his head in one clean stroke, his eyes flashing yellow for the briefest of moments.

Argorria really ought to have left well enough alone, but she approached the dying Sith intending to make her contribution. She clicked her tongue in dismay to find her would-be opponent already mostly dead. She turned her attention to the victim instead. Master Dooku, who had slipped outside when it looked like the younger members of his lineage had the situation under control, returned with the victim’s shoes, which he had found by the light of his saber. Once the victim’s shoes were put back on him, Korkie and Master Dooku pulled him up to his feet with Ahsoka providing support. They needed to get him back into town.

They loaded the unconscious native into their ship to take him into the city. It was not until they were all on the ship that Anakin began to feel physically ill. The Force was oppressive with anger, fear, and pain in that cave, which tended to make Jedi dizzy and nauseous. Obi-Wan, Master Dooku, and Ahsoka seemed to feel it, too. Argorria sat with the victim, finding and stealing a flask of utoz from his clothes. It had not even been opened, or if it had, he had only taken a mouthful. _Good, that leaves more for me_ , she smirked.

The only person mostly unaffected was Korkie, so he was put in the co-pilot’s seat with his father standing behind him for backup. Anakin initially took the pilot’s seat without even thinking, but his hands shook and his face was pale, so Master Dooku and Ahsoka stood behind his seat to help steady him, quite forgetting about Argorria and the victim. They would need to find out who he was and deliver him home. Anakin’s eyes had dark circles under them, but they were bluer than they had been in a long time. The change was not lost on his master. Anakin had not given in to the temptation to use the Dark Side. He might need some help from the mind healers in the Halls of Healing, but he was going to be all right.

“Why don’t you join your master, Snips, and see if the rescued man has any kind of ID on him? Master Dooku is here to help me.” Anakin glanced over his shoulder at Ahsoka, whose normally terra cotta complexion was now a pale beige. She nodded and left the cockpit, finding her master crouched on the floor with the victim.

Ahsoka began to search the man’s clothes for a wallet or other means of identifying him, then gasped when she found a wallet with images in it. The man seemed to be a twin, and the caption written into the image identified the men as Hrod and Hrun Milew. The man’s speeder license identified him as Hrod Milew; was the other man, the Sith, then Hrun Milew? Had he been impersonating his brother in public? The address listed was not far from the hotel in the city. She brought the document back to the cockpit so that the men could narrow down the coordinates.

Argorria finished the small flask of utoz, which she returned to its original hiding place. She looked just as bad as the others when they got off, the real Hrod Milew in tow. He was not entirely capable of walking or talking, but with such a large group of Jedi—plus Korkie—to help, he was just barely able to stagger. Argorria wrapped her arm around him while Korkie propped him up from behind, the rest of the Jedi providing cover from a short distance behind them.

When they reached the senator’s front door, Argorria rang the doorbell. A female aide came out first, saw the apparently-drunk senator with an equally drunk-seeming Togruta woman, said, “Echuta!” and fired at Argorria with her blaster. The commotion attracted the attention of someone inside the house, who yelled for help. Anakin ignited his lightsaber and struck at the aide’s blaster hand, disarming her, before Ahsoka slipped into the house behind the aide, tying her hands behind her back. She was small enough and nimble enough for such things. Obi-Wan Force-pushed the aide out of the way so that the impaired senator could be brought inside the house. Another woman who may have been his wife was tied to a chair, tears in her eyes as she regarded the delirious senator.

“That woman is my brother-in-law’s accomplice. They’ve impersonated my husband and me for years. Take her away, bring her to justice!”

Obi-Wan untied the wife to look after her husband, then turned his attention back to the aide, who continued to sneer. He realized that he recognized her from his own mission to Merisee some years ago, when she had acted like she was afraid of him. Her eyes flashed yellow and it occurred to him that she had been using Darth Meadd to position herself to gain power. She remained tied up, but her hands moved behind her back. Argorria’s good hand flew up to her throat. “If I kill her, it will merely be reported as the senator’s wife having gotten into a fight with his favorite prostitute. If you kill me, the senator’s real wife will be blamed as an imposter.”

“Darth Meadd is dead. Don’t you think your, or rather, his master will notice and assume you’re responsible and take you on instead?” Obi-Wan smiled at her, hoping that this would be enough of a mind trick.

“Dead? No!” She screamed, letting go of her Force-choke on Argorria. Obi-Wan slipped a Force-inhibitor around her neck and began to march her outside, while Korkie supported Argorria against his shoulder. The aide noticed the young man, glanced at Obi-Wan, and smirked. The relationship between them was obvious and would be easy to exploit as soon as she could wriggle free.

Once out on the street, she tried to make a run for it, but was quickly hit by a speeder moving erratically. A drunk driver. She lay on the ground, eyes bulging, as the speeder backed up and ran over her again, severing her in two. The driver seemed to finally figure out that he had run over a sentient being rather than hit a speedbump. He panicked, mistook the reverse button for the brakes, and wound up running over her again. Most normal people would die from this, but this woman was a Sith apprentice. Obi-Wan muttered, “So uncivilized,” as he cut her head off with his lightsaber just in case. He was putting her out of her misery. He thought of Maul as he did so; that man he now considered a brother. Satine was right. Surely it was the poor air quality that was making his eyes water. He could not possibly be crying.

“Come on, Dad! We’ve got to get Argorria back onto the ship.” It was Korkie’s voice that snapped him out of his reverie.

By the time they were all aboard their ship, the Jedi were feeling better, except for Argorria. Anakin and Master Dooku got the ship into hyperspace while Korkie held Ahsoka, who was sobbing. Her master was unconscious and looking worse by the minute. Obi-Wan knelt down by the supine knight and grabbed her hand. If only Bant were here. Obi-Wan himself was not fully devoid of healing powers, given his birth family lineage, but there was only so much he could do. Argorria would have to hold on until they could get her to the Halls of Healing back at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Ahsoka blinked back tears and stared straight ahead.

“Is my master going to make it?”

“I don’t know, little one. We can’t be certain.”

Master Dooku came out to have a look, shook his head, and pulled out his datapad to begin writing the mission report, seeing as the others were in no mood for dull clerical tasks. Argorria’s master had been his friend, and he knew all too well the pain of losing a grown padawan; luckily for Argorria’s master, he was not here to witness this. Surely this mission should count as Anakin’s trials, since he had defeated a Sith while re-grounding himself in the Light Side. He regarded Korkie as well, not quite succeeding at masking his great-grandfatherly pride in the boy. He was not a Jedi, but he handled himself well in a crisis and showed compassion, which would make him a good political leader someday. In a way this was his trials, too. It had been useful to have a team member who was not Force-sensitive and therefore largely immune to Dark Side evil energies.

Bant was at the spaceport with a stretcher when they landed. Argorria was taken to the Halls of Healing immediately. Ahsoka followed the stretcher and Korkie followed her as Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Master Dooku followed Mace Windu into the Council Chamber. Master Dooku had submitted the report, after all, so his testimony was to be obtained before any decisions were made.

Anakin was asked to give his account of the battle with Darth Meadd separately before his master was called in for his private interview. Master Dooku had already been dismissed after the overall mission report, including the story behind poor Argorria’s blaster shot.

“Ready you think the boy is, hmmh?” Master Yoda tapped his gimmer stick on the floor and affected a stern expression, although his perked-up ears betrayed his excitement. After more than eight centuries, he still loved these ceremonies, because they marked growth for the Order and for the individuals involved.

Finally Anakin was summoned back into the room and told to kneel in the center. Like his master before him, his field trials obviated the need for much of the traditional ceremony. Anakin needed a little prompting from his master over the training bond in order to complete his part in the ceremony correctly. Obi-Wan drew his blue saber. He placed a steadying hand on Anakin’s shoulder more for himself than for his apprentice. With one clean stroke, he severed the padawan braid, which fell with a soft thud. Anakin picked up the braid, fingered it, and smiled. The final bead had been added on the flight back from Merisee. Most of the markers were lower down on the braid, but Obi-Wan had wound a single cord along much of the length to denote his own alcoholism.

The first stop after Anakin and his now former master left the Council Chamber was Master Dooku’s apartment, where Bant, Garen, Korkie, Ahsoka, and even Master Fisto were already gathered. As soon as they saw Anakin come in without his padawan braid, a cheer sounded through the room, more than likely started by Garen, although nobody was quite sure. Anakin waved his severed padawan braid in Ahsoka’s face, trying to tease her. Korkie watched in amusement before reaching for something in his clothes. “You missed a spot, Dad.” He reached behind Anakin’s head and tried to hack off the silly little nerftail with his vibroblade. Obi-Wan just smiled, the proud dad, happy to have his friends and some of his family there. Oh yes. He took several holos of Anakin for Shmi, then some more with Korkie, Ahsoka, and Master Dooku to send to the extended Kenobi family, not to mention Satine. Somehow it just felt right to let Ahsoka stay sitting between Obi-Wan’s two boys with Master Dooku standing behind the sofa.

Deltine was missing from the images, of course. Korkie would want to see her before he went back to Mandalore. Before Obi-Wan could suggest that they go see her, Anakin’s comm went off and Obi-Wan heard him giving directions to someone. It would not take a genius to guess that he was talking to Padme. Sure enough, she showed up a few minutes later, but she did have the sense to bring Bail Organa and even Mon Mothma. Both were delighted to see Anakin’s makeover, slapping him on the back in congratulations, but were a bit more guarded in their expression of delight regarding the outcome of the mission. The real Senator Hrod Milew’s sympathies were still unknown, after all. He might be willing to accept shipment of the clones and then give them somewhere to stay until they were ready to emigrate, or he might be just as bad as his brother. Bail Organa promised to reintroduce the bill to the Senate and see what happened with it. Obi-Wan had a nagging bad feeling about the bill angering the Supreme Chancellor, but he said nothing about that.

He remembered that he would have to make a full report for Satine. After Master Dooku had kicked out his guests and Anakin had disappeared somewhere with Padme, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka took Korkie to the creche to take holos with Deltine before going to the Coruscant spaceport to see Korkie off as he returned to Mandalore, a more confident and possibly more reckless young man than before—his father’s bad influence, as Satine would say as affectionate teasing.

Oh yes. Poor Argorria. In the past Obi-Wan would have used anything as an excuse to drink, whether Anakin’s knighting or Argorria’s condition. Now he found himself desperately suppressing a very bad feeling as he led Ahsoka to the Halls of Healing to see her master.

The bad feeling only intensified as they got closer, until Master Vokara Che noticed them. “Ah, good timing. Motigora has been asking for both of you. A simple blaster wound would have been one thing, but her blood levels of poison and strong alcohol were truly impressive. I’m amazed she’s lasted as long as she has.”

Ahsoka went pale and Obi-Wan put a hand on her shoulder. “Can we see her?”

“Come right this way. Earlier she was delirious and made quite a few rude remarks about your lightsaber, if you know what I mean. Well, I won’t speak any worse of her in front of her padawan.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he shepherded Ahsoka into her master’s sickroom after Master Che. Poor Argorria indeed. Her eyes were unfocused but she must have sensed Ahsoka’s presence. She gave a weak smile and even purred when she felt Obi-Wan’s warm, calloused hand take hers. “Little Soka…new master…be good…”

She smiled again and was one with the Force. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka stared at each other for a long moment before shifting their gaze back to Argorria. Ahsoka began to cry again. “What’s going to become of me, Master Obi-Wan?”

“Now that Anakin is a knight, I’m free to take you as my padawan, provided the Council approves. Why don’t you stay with us tonight, either way?”

Ahsoka nodded and buried her face in Obi-Wan’s robes. Master Che filed the paperwork and handed Obi-Wan a datapad with a form. “I heard that. This is the form for requesting to take over the training of an apprentice whose master was killed in action. In my experience the Council acts quickly in these cases.”

Obi-Wan nodded and set to work filling out the form. He had been too old for this procedure when Qui-Gon was killed, and nobody was Anakin’s master at that point, so this was his first practical experience with this protocol, but Bant had lost Master Tahl as a young girl and been reassigned to Master Fisto, and Asajj had been transferred to Master Dooku after Master Narec died in her arms. Perhaps they could help Ahsoka with the adjustment.

Obi-Wan did not even consider his own adjustment to the situation as his comm went off no more than fifteen minutes after he had submitted his form. “Kenobi.”

“Windu. This is crazy, but you’re right. The girl needs a master and you’re technically available as of today. Most masters like to take a breather between apprentices, but not you, you just live to serve, don’t you? Somehow this only happens to you, like last time. Bring Ahsoka to the Council Chamber. We’re still here. We might as well officially grant you the rank of Master while we’re at it. May the Force be with you.”

“And also with you. We’ll be right there.”

Obi-Wan turned to Ahsoka. “Well, little one, at least they’re giving us a hearing. Come on, let’s see if they let us.” Thoughts of little Deltine flitted across his mind, but his daughter was still only four years old. By the time she was old enough to become a padawan, Ahsoka would be grown. Ahsoka needed him now, not ten years from now. Besides, Obi-Wan had had a vision recently, in which Deltine was tugging at Anakin’s robes and calling him, “Master.” Perhaps tonight he could add a faceless Togruta girl to the family portrait in his sketchbook. His older daughter.


	52. Snips vs. Sith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody puts Snips in the corner. Mace Windu's headaches get worse as the Kenobi craziness continues. Sheev Palpatine really ought to have better dental insurance than he does.

Darth Sidious sucked on his remaining rotten teeth so hard that one fell out. No matter, he would just grow a new one, making sure to maximize the pain to strengthen himself. He would have no trouble with increasing his anger. Darth Meadd had been a particularly promising apprentice, and his killing would have been an excellent opportunity to turn young Skywalker, or kill him outright to make Kenobi easier to turn if he was going to play this game of not being home and not drinking. Now, Skywalker would get assistance from mind healers. On the other hand, Motigora’s death leaving behind a young apprentice— a pathetic lifeform who was even more wild and spirited than Skywalker—would provide an opportunity for history to repeat itself. If Skywalker felt that he was being replaced, he may turn yet, dragging his master with him to the Dark Side. The stress of being responsible for a young girl might drive Kenobi to relapse, especially if he fancied himself her father. Fathers of daughters tended to age quickly from worry, at any rate.

He turned over in his mind the day he had spotted Kenobi walking with the young Togruta girl through the corridors of the Jedi Temple. His first thought was that he was taking the girl home with him; Kenobi had had one arm around the girl and another hand in his pocket. Darth Sidious had hoped that the pocket contained a bottle of whiskey, but apparently it had not, since both Force signatures were clear, and they had turned away from the dormitory wing and towards the Council spire. Perhaps it was a datapad in his pocket. Aha, a repeat of Jinn’s attempt to take Skywalker as his padawan while he still had Kenobi. This would be excellent for cultivating bad blood between Kenobi and Skywalker, especially since Skywalker would be less graceful about it. Once Kenobi had a notion of what he thought was right, he would stick with it, the way he did on Melida/ Daan, with a truly impressive tenacity.

Carefully putting in place his blandly pleasant mask as Supreme Chancellor, Sheev Palpatine emerged from his office, only to run into Anakin Skywalker himself. The young man was smiling broadly, as if he did not know that he was being replaced. On closer examination, the young man was missing his padawan braid. Chssk. Kenobi must have knighted the youth before taking a new apprentice. On the other hand, there was no legitimate reason for a brand-new knight to be wandering the halls of the Senate unless he was making the rounds of his allies, of which a boy of eighteen should have none. Of course. At his seventeenth lifeday party Skywalker had been oddly friendly with Senator Amidala. That girl was trouble.

“Ah, I see you’ve been knighted. Congratulations. Your master must be so proud of you. I know it wasn’t always easy for the two of you, but you definitely earned it. A young man of your talent would have to be knighted early.”

“Thank you. The events of the last few days have been a blur, but I’m honored to serve the Republic. Have a good day, Chancellor.” Anakin Skywalker smiled even more warmly, as if that were possible. His clear blue eyes sparkled, with no trace of the yellowing that Darth Sidious had worked so hard to encourage. His now former master must not have relapsed, not even a little slipup, at Motigora’s funeral.

Darth Sidious followed Skywalker for a while, until he saw him palm open the door to a small apartment in the wing of the Jedi Temple that was closest to the Senate building. The boy had moved out already. There may be greater discord than initially apparent. Perhaps young Tano would be home alone in Kenobi’s apartment.

* * *

Anakin entered his apartment and smiled. Padme was already inside, talking to a holoprojection of Shmi Skywalker. She had seen the holos Obi-Wan had sent her of Anakin’s secret wedding and knighting party and was genuinely happy for her son but a bit worried. This was Anakin, after all. He had already had a special talent for kriffing things up royally from the time he was just a toddler. Padme had her work cut out for her, that was for sure.

“Ah, Ani. Your mother was just giving me pointers on how to keep you out of trouble. Did you pick up the datapads from my office that I asked for?”

“Yes, I did. Here they are. I’d like to talk to my mom.” Anakin handed his wife her datapads to study and took a position closer to the holoprojection of his mother. “Hi, Mom!”

“Hello, Anakin. Padme was telling me that you’re not living with your master anymore, and that he already has a new apprentice. Is something wrong? Did you displease him so much that he sent you away and replaced you?”

“It’s not like that, Mom. He’s more or less my dad, not my owner. I’ve been knighted, so I got his permission and moved out to get my own place, closer to Padme’s office. He took Snips as his new padawan after I was already knighted, so she didn’t replace me. You remember Snips? The young Togruta girl who was with us the last time I was on Tatooine?”

“Ah, yes. Sweet, lively little girl.”

“Her master died in action, so my former master took her on. She’s living in my old room, now.”

Shmi Skywalker’s expression clouded as she remembered the drunken mess that had been the girl’s master. She tended to feel acutely the pain and tragedy of any child losing a parental figure for any reason, whether through death or being sold. One of her biggest regrets was giving Anakin the impression that she did not love him anymore, when her real intention was simply to discourage him from abandoning his potential by moving back home rashly. She could only hope that Anakin had eventually understood. Somehow it was not surprising that the Togruta woman she had met on Anakin’s second visit home was dead, but it was no less tragic. A drunken mother figure was particularly damaging for a little girl. It was nice of that red-headed man with the kind eyes to take her in to be Anakin’s new sister. Perhaps the Jedi were not so far removed from the best parts of Tatooine slave culture.

On the other hand, she knew for a fact that Anakin’s former master was rather unorthodox in his parenting. She had had mixed feelings upon hearing that he had let Anakin marry his senator so young, no matter that she was a nice girl, but could also see his logic, since Anakin was an unstoppable sandstorm of a boy, and the best way to survive that was to supervise the inevitable.

* * *

As he walked, Darth Sidious saw another young man coming from the direction of Kenobi’s apartment. He looked rather like that unpleasant man, Fett, only much younger. The man came closer, then stopped and saluted. His shirt had a personal number embroidered on it, suggesting that he was one of the clones. Good, they had reached maturity and been shipped to Merisee, but now the fools in the Senate and the Jedi Order had taken the trouble to bring them here to Corsucant. Being programmed for obedience to anyone with a lightsaber of any color it should be easy to confuse them into following his orders. “Ah, CC-2224.” Sheev Palpatine smiled.

“Sir, if I may. I’ve been told that I’m a person, and my name is Cody. Have a good day, sir.” He had a long-suffering expression that suggested that he thought it rude to address a clone by his personal number. The clone stood at attention, clicked his heels, and saluted before going on his way. He had been polite, but the whole encounter set the Supreme Chancellor’s remaining teeth on edge.

“Oh, and one more thing. This is the way to Senator Organa’s office, isn’t it?” The clone turned around in that crisp military manner and asked a question.

“Yes, it is.” Sheev Palpatine had a bad feeling about this. Bleeding heart Organa would undoubtedly try to adopt the clones, make them citizens of Alderaan. This individual, who had clearly been engineered to be a commander, had likely been appointed representative for the clones immigrating to Alderaan. They must be on Coruscant for processing, since there were still so many of them. There were more clones not ready for harvesting, still on Kamino. There would be a contingent going to Chandrila and even Naboo. Once Amidala had begun disseminating the images of the clones as children, public opinion had shifted in favor of resettling them to pleasant planets. The prospect of gaining them as young, strong, obedient workers had appealed to many a senator and chamber of commerce chairman, so that not even the Supreme Chancellor himself could suppress Organa’s bill once Darth Meadd was dead.

When Sheev Palpatine finally entered Kenobi’s apartment, it seemed to be empty at first glance. He crept toward the padawan bedroom, thinking to get a feel for the tastes and personality of young Tano, but the minute he opened the door, he was greeted with a pie to the face and a cry of “Caught you, Skyguy!” before the girl registered that she had the wrong victim. She blushed when she realized that she had just attacked the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.

Sheev Palpatine was sorely tempted to unleash Force-lightning on the girl, but remembered that she was a very young padawan who had recently lost her master. He was not prepared for the chuckling behind him as Master Yoda remarked, “Truly wonderful the mind of a child is.”

The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, Sith master, former senator for Naboo Sheev Palpatine had been humiliated by a teenage girl. He washed off as much of the offending fruit jam as he could in Kenobi’s fresher, leaving a mess out of spite, before fleeing back to his office. This was unacceptable. Tano was worse than Skywalker and without the mitigating darkness to offset her high spirits.

Obi-Wan returned to his apartment with Master Dooku and gasped at the mess in the fresher. “Ahsoka, what is this?”

“See, I told you, girls are more trouble, surprisingly enough.” Master Dooku was smirking under his neatly-trimmed beard.

“A waste of a good pastry that was, but very satisfying.” Master Yoda stood in the doorway to Ahsoka’s room and gave his nearly-nine-hundred-year-old sagely smile, which was strangely appropriate.

“Whom did you hit? Anakin?” Obi-Wan could not really be cross with Ahsoka. This was the kind of trick that Garen and Reeft used to play on Bant, and Obi-Wan was always the one doing damage control vis-à-vis the adults, because it was generally his idea anyway. What the attack lacked in ingenuity and originality it more than made up for in boldness.

“The Supreme Chancellor.” Ahsoka blushed yet again.

“Padawan Ahsoka Tano, you are a bold one.” Master Dooku’s matter-of-fact delivery was more devastating than a rebuke would have been.

“I didn’t know he was coming to snoop around in my room. I thought he was Skyguy at first.”

Master Dooku and Obi-Wan exchanged glances. Both knew that the Supreme Chancellor was in the habit of dropping in unannounced, but it was one thing to plant oneself on someone else’s sofa and await their return and quite another to creep about in the bedroom of a girl who might as well be one’s adolescent daughter. That was predatory and weird.

“Am I in trouble?” Ahsoka’s expression darkened with worry.

“No, little one. You’re not the one who’s in trouble. The Supreme Chancellor is. He has no right to snoop around in my girl’s room.” Obi-Wan hugged Ahsoka loosely, being careful not to squeeze her lekku. He was never good or natural at hugs, but with four children he had been responsible for, he had gotten some practice.

“A clone who introduced himself as Cody was here. He asked if my dad were home. I guess he meant you. I told him to go to Senator Organa’s office.”

“Good, you did well. A batch of clones left for Naboo this morning, and another batch for Chandrila just left. More clones are arriving from Merisee tonight for processing. Thank the Force the real Senator Milew was a reasonable man. I understand he was the one who initially requested my presence on that mission before Darth Meadd hijacked it.”

“Arriving this afternoon my visitor is. Too bad the pie he cannot now eat.” Master Yoda gestured toward the fresher in a vague, incongruously mystical fashion.

“Come on, let’s go meet him at the spaceport.” Master Dooku turned on his heels, swishing his cape dramatically. Master Yoda smiled in bemused resignment, the way he always did at the airs and pretentions of his old padawan.

At the spaceport a ship full of clones had just left for Mandalore, making room for a smaller vessel from Stewjon to land. Obi-Wan smiled and waved at the two figures exiting the craft. Maul also waved, something golden on his finger glinting in the light. The woman behind him appraised Ahsoka first, remarking on her growth, before giving Obi-Wan a gentle yet still awkward hug.

“Um, this is a surprise. Welcome to the Jedi Temple, Mum.” It took Obi-Wan a long moment to catch his breath.

“And your Jedi grandad, Master Dooku, was it? See, I remember. And you, lass. You can call me Nana. You’re my granddaughter now.” She beckoned to the girl and drew her into her arms. Ahsoka was older than Fuki-Nan’s girls, which made the pain of having lost a de facto mother arguably worse, since she was old enough to understand what she had lost.

Master Yoda regarded Jeri-Mar Kenobi with a mischievous smile, no doubt assessing the similarities between mother and son. Poor Mace Windu, he would love this proliferation of non-Jedi visitors to the Temple. This was also the woman who had turned the mighty former Sith lord, who was now grinning, still on a pink cloud from his recent wedding. Maul still came to the Jedi Temple periodically for courses in Force-healing, mind healers’ appointments for himself, and joint meditation sessions with Master Yoda and even Obi-Wan.

“You’re looking well, Obi.” Jeri-Mar Kenobi had not seen Obi-Wan since he got sober, so she was actually impressed by how good he looked. All of her boys were handsome, and not just because a mother is biased, but the difference in Obi-Wan was truly incredible, even though there had been no change to his clothes or hairstyle. His eyes sparkled the same enigmatic blue as her own and his skin looked younger, although he still had those adorable laugh lines around his eyes. He was still quite thin, but wiry. Her little boy, whose childhood she never got to see, but she could not but be proud of the man he had become.

Maul smiled at Ahsoka. The last time he saw her, she had been panicking about her drunken master. Now Obi-Wan was her master, which entitled her to Maul’s new-found protectively avuncular impulses. She was family now. He could not help but think how different this approach to the taking of a new apprentice was to the Sith way, in which rival apprentices were made to fight to the death. Obi-Wan would be a warm, loving father figure to her, not an abusive torturer like Darth Sidious.

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka together took his mother on a Temple tour, including a visit to Deltine in the creche. Ahsoka’s eyes got bigger when the girl gurgled, “Nana!” and looked just like the holo on the Kenobi family home wall. It was not difficult to guess the relationship between the child and her new master. That made little Deltine her younger sister—from a certain point of view.

Walking through the halls of the Temple, they ran into a Zeltron woman who seemed to be about Obi-Wan’s age. She was vaguely familiar, but he could not place her. Ahsoka, however, could. “Master Obath.”

“Hello, Ahsoka. Is that your new master?”

“Yes. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Ahsoka beamed with pride. Her teachers, including Rissy Obath, had been quite concerned when Ahsoka lost her first master, so she was glad to have the chance to show off Master Obi-Wan.

Rissy Obath did her best not to stare too much. _Force, he’s even more beautiful than I remember_. _Ahsoka is lucky to have a master with such a pure Force signature and gentleness combined with a strong work ethic._ Rissy Obath smiled at Ahsoka, trying to look like a relieved teacher and not the lovestruck junior padawan she felt herself regressing to as she drank in those features. Time stopped, reversed course, as the memory of sitting near him in class returned. The serious expression that was incongruous with his adorable baby face, the light of kindness and intelligence in those eyes, the way the light caught the copper of his hair. Rissy Obath found that she missed him, now that she was on the other side of the lectern. It was easy to imagine him guiding Ahsoka with a steady hand. Rissy Obath was so wrapped up in her memories and the pleasant shock of finding him twenty years older but just as beautiful a soul as ever that she did not see anything else. The older woman standing behind him was obviously his birth mother, but that barely registered.

“You’re a lucky girl, Ahsoka. Do your best, make him proud.”

Ahsoka grinned as they went on their way. Of the three, only Jeri-Mar Kenobi realized that this teacher had once had a crush on Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan did send warning to Anakin over their training bond that he was getting a visit from his “Nana.” It was Padme who opened the door, still giddy in her newlywed happiness and quite obviously not just a friend. Jeri-Mar Kenobi smiled at the beautiful young senator, quick to grasp that the brunette was her granddaughter-in-law of a sort. Once she was inside the apartment with Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, she spotted Anakin sitting on the sofa and talking to the holoprojection of a woman he addressed as “Mom.” For her part, Shmi regarded the new visitors, smiling broadly at them. These people were clearly Obi-Wan’s family, and they seemed harmless enough. The girl was familiar; she must be his new apprentice.

Ahsoka Force-jumped onto Anakin’s lap from behind, which he had felt coming but tolerated anyway. “Skyguy! Ori’vod.” She had picked up some Mando’a words from her master and his little daughter in the creche. Padme was laughing, while Obi-Wan was shaking his head at the complete lack of decorum. The two grandmothers regarded each other warmly. Shmi had not needed to be told who Mrs. Kenobi was.

Anakin gave his slightly-creepy lopsided grin that Padme found strangely endearing, then got up from the sofa, opening the storage unit under the seat. He produced holo-albums, which he handed to Mrs. Kenobi without saying anything about the content. As she flipped through the images, she realized that nearly all of them were of Obi-Wan, with Anakin in many of them. Even Obi-Wan himself had had no idea that his former padawan had this, while Padme was smirking. She had had the images of Obi-Wan from his holoalbums copied for Anakin as a wedding present, knowing how much it meant to her new husband that he did indeed have a family.

It was Padme who came up with the idea of making another copy for Mrs. Kenobi, with captions for the images. Obi-Wan would have to cooperate for that, but it would also make a good bonding exercise for Ahsoka to help. The process of grafting himself into the shattered training bond with Argorria was slow and delicate, and having an externalized activity like this would help. _Thanks, Padme_.

* * *

Darth Sidious sucked at the abscessed hole where his tooth had been until he heard a knock on his office door. “Come in.”

Jango Fett entered, leaving his young son in the corridor. He was not looking forward to this. With most clients performance reviews did not involve lightning or choking. This had been a poor business decision in retrospect. He had known that whoever were backing the Trade Federation and Tariff Committee were not likely to be pleasant individuals, but this was absurd. The deaths of his original clients had led him directly to the mastermind himself. At least the clones were going to be properly taken care of, thanks to a group of liberal senators, even the Duchess herself. The woman was at least consistent in her outlook; maybe she was not so bad after all. Her Jedi lover had been surprisingly kind to him on Bakura, as well.

“My lord.” It rankled to have to kneel in front of this creepy old man, but the consequences of not doing so were too great. He could already feel the toxic anger building up in his employer. Jango Fett had sold himself as the best in the bounty-hunting business, but consistently failed to kill any of the Jedi on the hit list, even Yan Dooku, who was rather old and therefore theoretically easy to bump off.

“Your failures grow more and more intolerable by the day.” Darth Sidious growled as he raised his hands, which usually meant one of two things, both horrible outcomes. Jango Fett tried not to flinch. White hot pain shot through his nervous system, the beskar armor he wore under his cloak contributing to overheating. This was terrible. It was a good thing that little Boba was outside and not seeing this. Oh no, the sadistic old man is grinning—Jango realized, too late, that he was able to read other people’s thoughts.

Bail Organa stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of little Boba peering in the keyhole of the Supreme Chancellor’s office and trembling. Sometimes Bail Organa had a bad feeling walking past that door, but nothing like this. He crouched next to the boy and regarded him. Of course, he had the same face as all of the other clones, but he was clearly a juvenile, maybe nine or ten. Bail Organa also peered into the office and stifled a gasp. No child should have to see his or her parent being tortured like this. He was quite sure that being able to shoot blue lightning from one’s fingertips was not normal. He turned on his comm, dialed Master Windu’s frequency, and held the device up to the keyhole so that the Master of the Order could see.

When it looked like the torture session was about over, Bail Organa handed the boy a piece of flimsi with his name and office number on it. “If you or your dad need a safe place to hide, you can hide in my office. There are always clones there, too. You would be able to blend in.” He got up, patted the boy on the shoulder, and headed back to his office to regroup. If anything happened to Jango Fett, his little boy would be an orphan. This thought was heart-breaking, but Bail Organa had no doubt that if it came to that, Breha would not need to be convinced to take in the young clone. Children needed parents, and the Organas would treasure any child who needed them. Breha would accept little Boba in a heartbeat, he was sure of it.

Mace Windu was amazed at himself for recognizing the frequency from Senator Organa’s comm. There was no mistaking the Sith Force-lightning he was seeing as Jango Fett was being fried unceremoniously. Master Yoda, who happened to be sitting in the Windu residence sipping an abomination that could not truly be described as tea, watched it with him, ears drooping and head cocked in sadness. Pain and fear filled his consciousness as Fett’s anguish washed over him. When the footage ended, Senator Organa called back from his office to describe how young Boba had been watching. This news made Master Yoda even sadder. It seemed fairly certain now that Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine was indeed the Sith master.

Master Windu opened his mouth, about to return to his earlier arguments about Obi-Wan’s complete violation of the Code from even before he was knighted or started drinking and how to contain any bad influence that may have on other young knights, but thought better of it. Now was not the time. There was no doubt that Obi-Wan had never actually set out to thumb his nose at the rules, instead having stumbled into situations in which his sense of duty had gone in strange directions, but there was no denying that widespread knowledge of his violations would cause a nightmare for the Order as a whole. What part of “There is no passion; there is serenity” did Obi-Wan not understand? How had Qui-Gon failed to teach him the difference between following the Living Force and doing whatever he pleased, apparently including following the dictates of his teenaged hormones, then digging himself deeper as he tried to shoulder alone the responsibility for his lapses? How had Obi-Wan gotten his reputation for dogged adherence to the Code when he clearly did not actually follow the rules? Or perhaps he had merely learned to follow the regulations for little things that did not matter as a sort of smokescreen to allow himself to flout the important rules.

“Followed the Old Code, Obi-Wan has. Passion, yet serenity. Emotion, yet peace. Love without attachment. Perhaps right he is, if combat the Supreme Chancellor himself we must to save the Republic. Comfortable with contradiction he is. Helpful his family have been, as well.”

“Are you saying that the ends justify the means, Master?” Mace Windu got a pinched expression that betrayed his discomfort at this idea. There was a good reason why the Code had been updated. It would not do to simply throw away centuries of tradition that had worked perfectly well just because of one man, no matter how well-intentioned or well-loved he was, even if he actually was the Chosen One.

“The Force works in mysterious ways.” Master Yoda put down his empty teacup and left Master Windu’s apartment without further elaboration. He always got away with speaking in riddles and nodding knowingly at esoteric thoughts, but that was because he was not in an administrative role and did not routinely find himself having to represent the entire Order to outsiders.

Mace Windu rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to forestall the headaches. He liked Obi-Wan, really he did, and not just because the young master had been Qui-Gon’s padawan. Everybody liked Obi-Wan, which was how he got away with so much. If Obi-Wan would go back to his rule-following senior padawan stage, it would be much easier to defend him and his actions. Master Yoda seemed to dismiss the possibility of expulsion, but Master Windu wished that Obi-Wan would refrain from any more antics that could get him in serious trouble, like bringing his relatives to the Temple as if it were normal to do so. It would be a terrible loss to have to kick him out, but also difficult to justify to the Supreme Chancellor letting him get away with all these exceptions. This was not a pleasant position to be in; on the other hand, now that the Supreme Chancellor himself had been revealed to be the Sith master, perhaps all of this was a moot point. Mace Windu rubbed his temples harder.

* * *

The good thing about Ahsoka’s incident with the pie and the Supreme Chancellor was that Sheev Palpatine was less likely now to drop in unannounced. Obi-Wan had to smirk at this idea as he ushered Bant into his apartment. Lately he had taken to inviting other knights and masters over to spend time with Ahsoka so that she was not home alone when Obi-Wan went to recovery meetings. Bant came the most often, having gone through a similar experience of losing her original female master and being reassigned to a male master right during her early teenaged years. Obi-Wan knew that there were certain things that a girl needed a mother figure for, no matter how committed and loving her male guardian was. Today he had the added bonus of his own mother.

“Ahsoka, maybe you can tell Bant and Nana about the time you scared off the Supreme Chancellor. I’ve got to go to my meeting, but I’ll be right back.”

Ahsoka began to giggle as Bant eyed her suspiciously. Her sort-of grandmother merely raised an eyebrow. Whatever mischief Obi-Wan had taught his apprentice, he certainly had not learned it from his birth mother.

“Come on, Nana, let me show you Master Obi-Wan’s drawings. I know where he keeps his sketchbooks. Oh, that picture on the wall is one of his, too.”

“Did you know Master Jinn?” Bant gazed at the watercolor portrait and felt the warmth of his rich baritone laugh, large, calloused hands guiding hers as he worked with her on her mechanics homework while Master Tahl taught Obi to cook. He had been the closest thing to a father that Bant had had until her apprenticeship was transferred to Master Fisto.

“No, not directly. But Skyguy and Master Obi-Wan told me some stories.”

Jeri-Mar Kenobi caught Bant’s eye and smiled in understanding. The legacy of a grandparent was a beautiful thing.


	53. Vode An

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quinlan Vos should probably not be on the list of substitute teachers for junior padawan courses. On the other hand, the Senate should change its passwords at least sometimes. Jango Fett makes some uncomfortable discoveries. Maul can sing, too.

“Ahsoka, hold the tuber to your chest and peel away from you.” Obi-Wan demonstrated proper form, as Master Tahl had done for him all those years ago, before handing both tuber and peeler to his young padawan. Jeri-Mar Kenobi watched in awed amusement as her son taught the young Togruta girl how to make his famed vegetable stew. Her eyes wandered around the tidy apartment, settling on the portrait of the long-haired middle-aged man on the wall. She had known at a glance that Obi-Wan was the artist and quickly guessed that the man with sad eyes and leonine nose had been Obi-Wan’s master. His Jedi dad, the man who had raised him; seeing how proudly the picture was displayed, this man must have been a good father, not like Obi-Wan’s birth father. Just knowing that Obi-Wan had had a good father figure in the Jedi Order assuaged her guilt at having given up her middle-born so young. Obi-Wan’s birth father had been a decent man, all things considered, except for his drinking. Jeri-Mar had thought of leaving him many times, but then he would embark on another attempt at sobriety, which made her happy as she hoped against hope, but each time she would find herself pregnant again with a drunken husband. This girl had already lost her mother figure to alcoholism; Obi-Wan had better not fail her, too.

Mrs. Kenobi slipped into the master bedroom, noticed the corkboard with holos of Anakin and Ahsoka, and picked up the sketchbook on the bedside table. Flipping through it, she recognized most of the people depicted: Satine, Anakin, Korkie, Deltine, Master Dooku, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan’s birth family, Bant, even Maul. Obi-Wan was evidently in the habit of drawing the people he loved. There were some more drawings of the long-haired man, who was labelled as “Master Qui-Gon Jinn.” The drawing that caught her eye, however, was of Obi-Wan’s four children—including the two padawans—plus Satine, Master Dooku, and the man whose name seemed to be Qui-Gon.

* * *

Jango Fett emerged from Darth Sidious’ office rather worse for the wear, stumbling into the hall, gasping for air. A young woman in an elaborate gold headdress and complicated brocade gown noticed him and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. The big, brown eyes that peered into his face were kindly-looking but shone with an intelligent determination. “You must be Jango Fett. Your son is in Senator Organa’s office. Come with me.”

It hardly mattered to Jango Fett that this woman must be Senator Amidala. A young Jedi knight also appeared out of nowhere and slung Jango Fett’s arm over his shoulder, walking him down the hall to the office mentioned. The young knight looked familiar with blue eyes and blond curls that were just starting to grow out of the padawan cut, but Jango Fett could not place him. He knew he had seen this man several times before, but where? Blue lightning and that creepy remote choking thing had left him quite disoriented.

“Here we are!” chirped the woman as she tapped lightly on the non-descript door before palming it open.

“Dad!” Little Boba jumped up from his seat on the cherry-brown leather sofa and buried his face in his father’s cloak for a moment before pulling him toward the sofa. There was a low table in the middle of the room with leather sofas to the left and right; bookshelves lined the walls behind the sofas, while the wall farthest from the door was actually a window with a large desk in front of it. The man at the desk stood up and smiled warmly, his dimples and neat goatee hiding his alarm.

Once seated, Jango Fett hugged his young son to him. A door behind them opened and a young man who looked exactly between father and son in age stepped into the room, bearing tea and Alderaanian cakes. His clothes bore the designation CC-2224. He regarded the Fetts for a long moment.

“Thank you, Cody.” Senator Organa smiled at the young man who seemed no older than the blond knight.

“Forgive the intrusion, but are you not the Donor, sir?”

“Donor? Oh, of DNA for clones. Yes, I am. I can see that you’re one of the clones.”

“Yes. My _vode_ and I are here on Coruscant for immigration into the Republic. Senators Organa, Amidala, and Mothma, not to mention the Duchess of Mandalore, have all been accepting _vode_ as immigrants. I’m here to help Senator Organa process the cases of immigration to Alderaan, of which I am already a citizen.”

Jango Fett blinked. Wait a minute, that woman who called herself the Duchess of Mandalore was accepting clone immigrants? Why would she want to help individuals associated with Clan Fett? The presence of the young knight also bothered him. No proper Mandalorian would view _jetii_ favorably, let alone allow himself to befriend one or be helped by one, and yet Jango Fett himself just had. The clones had been engineered to obey anyone with a lightsaber of any color, including red, but Jango Fett was a freeborn warrior.

“I plan to go to Alderaan itself once my younger brothers have all completed their immigration procedures. I have no idea what kind of civilian career I might pursue, but perhaps I will know by that time.”

Jango Fett stared at Cody. Civilian career? He was a clone commander, of a naturally war-like race, perfectly engineered for battle. Of course he would not know what to do with himself outside of that context.

On the other hand, seeing his young, intelligent face, particularly those dark eyes, had an effect on the Donor, as he had been called. As long as the clone troopers were an abstract concept, Jango Fett did not think too deeply about them, except for a vague hope that their necessarily short lives would not be too unbearable, but now that he had encountered one as an individual with his own hopes and dreams, things were different. CC-2224 was not supposed to have hopes and dreams at all, but a human person who called himself “Cody” would. It might have been a mistake to provide DNA for cloning, but it was too late now. This man, Cody, was no different from Boba, except for some alterations, but more importantly, he was almost a younger version of Jango Fett himself. Young, still idealistic, fair-minded, untouched by the gnawing sadness of battle or the ravenous bloodlust that his first kill would awaken, he might perhaps deserve a peaceful civilian life on Alderaan if he so wished.

And Darth Sidious himself had had a hand in commissioning the cloning. That sadistic man with the blue lightning that came from his fingertips would not care about the lives of clone troopers. Those young men could be considered Jango Fett’s family. Even the Duchess regarded them as being eligible for membership into Clan Fett. If Darth Sidious tried to hurt the clones, Jango Fett realized, he would side with his own flesh and blood over that nightmare of an employer.

* * *

“Nana, let me show you my research project for my cybersecurity class. My assignment is to hack into a government office to prove that the passwords are never updated. My teacher told me the password was _finisvallorum_.”

Obi-Wan stared at Ahsoka in alarm. “You’re supposed to hack into the Senate system? What are they teaching junior padawans these days! Who is the teacher?”

“Master Vos. He’s substituting for Master Obath.” Ahsoka was already giggling even before Obi-Wan had pressed two fingers against his temples.

“I should have known. Quin would give an assignment like that, which is why he doesn’t have regular classes. Whose office are you going to hack?”

“The Supreme Chancellor.”

The jaws of both adults dropped. Anakin was certainly reckless, but Ahsoka was bold indeed. Jeri-Mar Kenobi looked from her son to her granddaughter and back again, glad to be a grandparent and thus one step removed. She watched Obi-Wan move his hand to the center of his forehead, pinch the top of the bridge of his nose, then lower his face onto the kitchen table. Mrs. Kenobi knew the feeling, to be sure, but was amazed that it was a girl who inspired it.

 _Breathe. In and out, in and out_. Obi-Wan eventually lifted his face again and looked straight at Ahsoka. “I’m glad you told me. I’m not going to stop you; in fact, I don’t think it’s a bad idea at all. If I were the one doing it, or Quin himself, it would be fine. But no, it had to be a fourteen-year-old junior padawan, and not just any junior padawan, but mine. Yes, we’re doing this, but you’re not doing this alone. I’m going to supervise it, tell Master Windu, Master Fisto, Anakin, Master Dooku, maybe Master Kolar, and make sure there’s no risk to you.”

Bant nodded in agreement. This was much too ambitious for a young teenager to attempt on her own. It was classic Quin, but still. She had to wonder whose offices Ahsoka’s classmates were planning to hack. Mas Amedda’s, perhaps?

Ahsoka frowned. “Because he’s the Supreme Chancellor? I thought you didn’t like him, Master, because he crept around in my room.”

“Because he’s the Sith master who probably already has you marked, after that incident with the pie in his face. That, and because he was trying to lurk in your room, the sleemo.”

Bant gasped. Mrs. Kenobi shuddered. Old men who snooped about uninvited in young girls’ bedrooms quite rightly earned the ire of the girls’ fathers, regardless of how important said old men were. If he was the Sith master, then he was also the man who had abused Maul for all those years. Mrs. Kenobi clenched her jaw in righteous indignation at this thought. How dare that man use his status to harass members of the Kenobi family!

Obi-Wan summoned Master Windu, then set about clearing the dinner dishes. Anakin and Master Dooku he could reach easily over the training bonds, and even Master Yoda and Maul he could access, although the connection was not so good. Bant could reach Master Fisto, but Master Kolar he would have to reach by comm.

Mrs. Kenobi put a hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder. “You listen to your dad. We want you to stay safe. You’ve been through enough already in your young life.”

Ahsoka had to smile at the way non-Jedi were so quick to refer to Master Obi-Wan as her father, even though they were different species. It made her feel normal, secure, wanted, which she supposed was different from attachment. An open, respectful love that gurgled contently like a brook in the forest was perhaps all right, as long as the love in question was not a violently swirling, torrential flow that broke dams and consumed everything.

“Master Windu, please come in.”

“What’s this about your padawan hacking the Supreme Chancellor’s office terminal as her homework? I’m glad we know about it now, beforehand. That man is dangerous. It’s the perfect cover for a hacking, but still.”

Obi-Wan winced as he felt Anakin’s response over the training bond. “Wizard! Padme has contacts in the media so we can leak incriminating evidence.”

“Anakin, we’re dealing with a powerful Sith master. We have to be careful.” Obi-Wan could feel his headache getting worse. He had a sinking feeling that Korkie was only as circumspect and sensible as he was because Satine had brought him up; if Obi-Wan had been in charge of his upbringing, he might be just as crazy as Anakin and Ahsoka. “Anakin, you have a wife now. You need to stay alive for her.”

“Aw, Master.”

Nobody else could hear this exchange, but anyone who knew Anakin would be able to imagine it. If Anakin ever had children, particularly Force-sensitive children, Padme had better be in charge, until any Jedi masters other than Anakin himself could train them. Obi-Wan could easily imagine them, a wide-eyed innocent of a blond boy who would blunder his way into trouble of galactic proportions, and a spitfire of a girl who looked like Padme but had Anakin’s temperament that would allow her to terrorize not just the Temple but the whole galaxy. Force help the Jedi Order if and when Skywalker spawn were unleashed upon it. On the other hand, Kenobi spawn in the form of Deltine might be just as hazardous. Obi-Wan pinched the top of the bridge of his nose again and returned to the problem at hand.

Mace Windu took a seat next to Ahsoka as she went through the protocols that she had learned in class, until the system asked for the password. He watched, half hoping that she would fail, as she entered it. He was dismayed but not surprised to find that the password was still indeed _finisvallorum_. That had been the password when he was a senior padawan, when he had been tasked with providing all manner of alibis for Qui-Gon and his schemes.

Master Dooku came in the door, with Master Fisto not far behind him. One look at Obi-Wan’s face was enough to tell them that the attempt to hack into the Supreme Chancellor’s system had been successful. Master Dooku remembered when the password had been changed to the current one—it was at the instigation of the real Master Syfo-Dias, who had been alarmed that the previous password had not been changed in almost a century. It had taken him a couple of years of steady lobbying to convince enough senators to pass the motion. Ironically enough, Senator Palpatine of Naboo had been in favor of adopting the current password.

The other masters soon shared Obi-Wan’s pained expression when Ahsoka succeeded in downloading correspondence with Jango Fett, the Kaminoan cloners, the Trade Federation, the Tariff Committee, suppressed reports that Hego Damask had been poisoned, quite a variety of invoices from organ regeneration companies on Bakura, and a truly impressive liquor store tab. Obi-Wan and Master Dooku exchanged glances when that one appeared on Ahsoka’s screen. It had not been the Supreme Chancellor, after all, who had consumed the majority of the liquor. Security holofootage of the lightning zapping of Jango Fett an hour ago was less surprising to find. There was no outstandingly nefarious activity in the records, but it all added up to a very slow, deliberate game of galactic dejarik. None of it was quite enough to make an arrest by itself, since each individual scheme was carefully grey.

But Obi-Wan could sense that there was not much time left. Anakin’s mind was too big of a price to pay. Surely there would be some kind of reprisal for his renunciation of the Dark Side during their latest mission. The Order had stood by, observing, as Darth Sidious entrenched himself in so much of the ruling apparatus of the Republic and even the Outer Rim, promoting the illegal spice trade, slavery, and all manner of misery across the galaxy. Anakin had slowly been pushed into bloodlust and toxic anger; if there was a renewed attack on his mind, who knew how much longer he could hold on to the sweet, good-hearted soul that was naturally his. _No son of mine is going to be allowed to be consumed by the Dark Side, especially against his will. I won’t let him take you, ad’ika._ Obi-Wan vowed to himself.

Ahsoka’s screen lit up with new activity. Darth Sidious had opened his correspondence system. Obi-Wan was amazed to see that Ahsoka was able to view in real time the message being typed. It was an order to the cloning facility on Kamino to destroy the younger generations of clones, now that his original purpose in ordering them had been thwarted. Master Windu gasped.

It was at that moment that Obi-Wan’s hands flew up to either side of his head as he stifled a cry of pain. _Anakin, something must have happened to Anakin._ He sent out a prod over the training bond, but Anakin’s response was not distressed at all. Not Anakin, then. Ahsoka and Master Dooku were right there with him, and neither seemed to be in distress. Obi-Wan cast a glance at each of the faces gathered around him in his apartment, and his eyes settled on the countenance of his mother as the only other person who had registered anything. As far as he knew his mother was not Force-sensitive, but her brows were knitted and lips pursed. She looked every inch like a mother whose child had been injured on the playground.

“Maul. I think my boy’s in pain.” It was Jeri-Mar Kenobi who spoke.

“I thought he was with Master Yoda.” Master Windu frowned.

Master Dooku probed along his old training bond with the ancient master. “They’re still together, and Maul is writhing in agony on the floor. Master Yoda says that he was poking at the remains of Maul’s training bond with his old master and that set off this reaction. He was thinking of installing a new training bond with Asajj to counteract the Sith one, and this happened.”

Obi-Wan shook his head sadly. Poor Maul. Worse, Darth Sidious would now be aware of Maul’s whereabouts. The message being typed on Ahsoka’s screen froze, abandoned. The Sith master would go after his former apprentice first. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and saw his battle with Darth Maul on Naboo all over again, except that this time, Anakin was the one wielding the red double saber, and Maul had a blue lightsaber. This would be Anakin’s audition for the role of Sith apprentice. The third figure was not Obi-Wan himself, but Qui-Gon with his green lightsaber, except that he was stuck on the other side of the laser gates, the way Obi-Wan had been all those years ago. Maul had also been a pawn, a victim. He was never the real enemy.

“My brother needs me.” Obi-Wan stood up. Maul, Anakin, Ahsoka, he could not let Darth Sidious target his family.

“Hold it, Obi-Wan. The chancellor doesn’t know we’re all gathered in your apartment to hack into his office terminal, and doesn’t know that you have any mental connection to Maul, much less a brother-bond. If you go confront him now, he’ll know that we’re on to him. I’ll go, with Master Fisto, maybe call Master Kolar as backup. I’m the interface with the Senate, he won’t be so suspicious if I barge into his office.” Master Windu made sense, as always, but this was not entirely satisfying to Obi-Wan. He felt a need to protect and assist his own, although of course he did trust Master Windu.

“Nobody gets away with hurting my boys.” Jeri-Mar Kenobi’s tone was quiet, but her eyes showed a steely determination that would not have been out of place on the face of a Jedi. Obi-Wan put a hand on her shoulder and stared at her in alarm. What was she suggesting? Did she really intend to confront the most dangerous man in the galaxy with no weapons, no training, no Force-sensitivity, indeed with nothing but a mother’s need to protect her brood?

“Quite. Come on, Kit.” Mace Windu turned toward the door to march out. Ahsoka was watching the adults, wide-eyed, not paying attention to her datapad. By the time she saw that she had brushed against the button to transmit the most-recently downloaded files to the last contact she had sent a message to, it was too late. In less than a minute, there was a response from Padme asking what this data was. Ahsoka saw nothing for it but to type a brief message to Padme explaining what she was doing. To her surprise, Padme asked for the password to hack into the Supreme Chancellor’s system as well. It dawned on Ahsoka that any message regarding killing the youngest clone boys, if made public, would be incendiary, since Padme had already spread images of the boys across the galaxy to gain public sympathy for their right to immigrate. Padme could leak this information.

For his part, Obi-Wan could still feel Maul’s pain as a dull throbbing in his head. Anakin would be less affected, given his weaker connection to Maul. Obi-Wan reoriented his focus to his bond with Anakin. The boy was radiating glee. He was _gloating_. This meant that he was still with Padme, watching his wife leak the evidence.

Speaking of wives. Obi-Wan transferred the footage of Jango Fett’s torture to his own device for transmission to Satine. Mandalorians would not stand for one of their own being unceremoniously fried like that, although of course it was up to Satine to decide what to do with the information.

No sooner had he completed the transmission than Obi-Wan doubled over in pain again. A voice that he recognized from his nightmares began to speak to him, addressing his brain directly. Darth Sidious must have found his mental bond with Maul in the latter’s mindscape.

“Think about it, Kenobi. You would be able to drink again, however much you wanted, with no consequences. Pain, anger, fear, jealousy, all of these make us stronger. Drunken rage will make you invincible and we shall rule the galaxy together.” The voice continued in his head.

“But I don’t want to drink again. I’ve already had enough for one lifetime, and I don’t miss it. Nor do I have any desire to rule the galaxy. I don’t need the Dark Side power that would come from drunken rage.” Obi-Wan found himself speaking aloud, not even registering the baffled looks of the other Jedi still in the apartment.

“The galaxy will know, then, the extent of your failures. You will be mocked and derided as a drunkard, a poor excuse for a Jedi, one who failed his apprentice at every turn, whether drunk or sober. You will be expelled from the Order when your superiors find out about your alcoholism.”

“Never mind my reputation. I have nothing to hide. It’s common knowledge that I’m an alcoholic, and I’m not ashamed anymore.” This was true. Obi-Wan had never realized this before, but at a little over two years sober, his shame about his condition had largely dissipated.

“Kenobi. Because of your recalcitrance, many others have to suffer. Submit to your true destiny as the Chosen One. You already have no future in the Jedi Order, for you are no Jedi. On your own, you are but a pathetic lifeform. But if you embrace all sides of the Force, you shall have unlimited power. You will have the power to save those who are important to you. Your boy, for one. This worthless spicehead whose mind I am borrowing to communicate with you for another.”

“No, no, no!” Obi-Wan held his head in both hands and bit down on his lip, trying to suppress a whimper. This had been Darth Sidious’ game all along. If giving himself over to the Sith master would save the people he loved, it might be worth it. Obi-Wan had no interest in drinking again, safeguarding a reputation that had long since been ruined and rehabilitated, unlimited power, or in ruling the galaxy, but he did want Anakin and Ahsoka safe. Darth Sidious would target his loved ones, one by one, until he submitted. Perhaps Ahsoka would be next, then Satine, maybe his mother. There had already been attempts against Master Dooku, and of course Qui-Gon’s death was deliberate. Obi-Wan was the Chosen One, apparently, but he knew that he had been chosen by the Force not for power or glory, but for infinite sadness.

A wave of worry not his own washed over his mind. Anakin. Anakin was worried about him, instead of the other way around. Ahsoka prodded Obi-Wan, trying to get him to look at her datapad. She had hacked into the security holocameras in the Supreme Chancellor’s office. Sheev Palpatine seemed to be alone in the office. That meant that he was tormenting poor Maul remotely. The door opened, and Master Windu strode into the office with an uncharacteristically jaunty stride.

The voices in Obi-Wan’s head stopped the minute Master Windu entered the Supreme Chancellor’s office. The torment of Maul must have stopped as well, because the pain disappeared. This was their chance. “Ahsoka, stay here with Master Dooku and Bant. You’ll be safe for sure.”

“Where do you think you’re going, Obi?”

“To join Master Windu. This won’t stop until I address it, Mum, because the target is me. I can’t let everyone fight my battles for me.”

“Well, nobody hurts my boys as long as I can do something about it. I’m going with you, Obi.” Jeri-Mar Kenobi stood up to her full height, which was smaller than Obi-Wan, but despite her small stature, there was something formidable about her.

“Mum… All right.” Obi-Wan grumbled as Ahsoka giggled. There was something inherently comical about a skilled Jedi master in his thirties having to endure his mother tagging along to his big confrontation against the Sith master. Perhaps this was why contact with one’s birth family was discouraged.

Sure enough, they ran into Maul in the hall. Mrs. Kenobi threw her arms around her adopted son and assessed him for damage. She had felt his distress as well, by virtue of her mother’s instincts. Obi-Wan turned around and noticed a young, Jango Fett lookalike following after Jango Fett himself. Jango Fett looked Obi-Wan up and down, then noticed Maul standing next to him. He looked confused for a minute, until Maul put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, removing all doubt that the two men were now allies. No, more than allies. Jango Fett knew what the bond between warrior _vode_ looked like, and it looked just like this. “You, Obi-Wan Kenobi. My son was already fond of you and your apprentice because of Bakura, but your former apprentice finally told me some more details about your relationship with the Duchess. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you a family-oriented Mandalorian rather than a _jetti_ based on what he told me about you. I suppose you could be considered a proper member of Clan Kryze after all.”

Obi-Wan stared at Jango Fett in a mixture of horror and relief. “Anakin told you about my secret marriage—in front of your son, this clone, I presume, and possibly Senator Organa as well? I hope he and Padme—Senator Amidala—didn’t decide to leak this to the whole galaxy, too? If he wanted to tell the entire galaxy that I’m a recovering alcoholic, that would be one thing, but couldn’t he respect my wife’s privacy, at least? What am I going to do with him!”

Jango Fett smiled and shook his head. “He told me about his own secret marriage, too, so at least he was fair in his information leaks. You Jedi are nothing like what we on Mandalore are taught about you. I saw the leaked plans to destroy the younger generations of my clones. I can’t let that madman do that. No bounty is worth watching my flesh and blood be slaughtered. So I added my own leaks to the mix, with some prodding from Cody here.”

It was Maul who began to sing in a surprisingly pleasant baritone. “ _Vode an, ka’rta tor!_ ” Brothers all, one heart of justice. Obi-Wan smiled when he realized that Satine had taught him the song. He added his own clear tenor voice to the song. The clone named Cody, even Jango Fett smiled in recognition as they joined in, brothers-in-arms.


	54. Final Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! Thanks for reading, everyone! 
> 
> Maul reveals what we suspected all along. Darth Sidious finds out that it's not a smart idea to anger Mama Kenobi. There is a major character death (mostly offscreen). Padme is a badass, as usual.

Mace Windu glanced at Master Fisto behind him and drew his purple lightsaber. “In the name of the Galactic Senate of the Republic, you’re under arrest, Chancellor.” He trusted Senator Amidala or Senator Organa to get Jango Fett to divulge incriminating details of nefarious activity, but right now Master Windu was bluffing, and Sheev Palpatine knew it.

“Are you threatening me, Master Jedi?” The Sith master sneered.

“The Senate will decide your fate.” Master Windu did not really believe this, but it was important to cover one’s backside, and to avoid feeding the perception that the Jedi were uppity and above the law.

“I am the Senate!” Sheev Palpatine remained seated, but loomed forward in his seat in a threatening manner.

“Not yet.” Master Windu called his opponent’s bluff.

The Supreme Chancellor rose to his feet and snarled, “It’s treason, then.” as he drew his red saber. With a savage cry and a spinning leap, he made straight for Master Fisto, who had slipped into the chamber behind Master Windu. He had only just entered the room and had his back to the wall, effectively cornering him as he tried to parry the attack. Darth Sidious proved to be more agile than expected as he thrust his red saber through Master Fisto’s left shoulder, quite close to his heart. Master Fisto turned those huge black eyes on the Supreme Chancellor but did not smile as he sank to the floor, the Dark Side Force-use having amplified the pain of his injury.

Mace Windu glared at the Supreme Chancellor as he led him from the office down a corridor, barely registering the golden statues of hooded figures, blood red carpeting, and other décor details that hinted at the Supreme Chancellor’s true affiliation all along. They reached a larger reception room, where Obi-Wan used to come for drinks, Sheev Palpatine consistently aiming directly for Master Windu’s belly.

Kit Fisto pulled himself up to his feet by the doorjamb and staggered back out into the hall, where Master Kolar was on standby. Seeing his colleague injured, he wrapped an arm around Master Fisto’s shoulder and walked him down the hall, back to the Jedi Temple. Master Fisto grinned through his pain when he remembered that he had recorded the entire exchange on his datapad. Let Senator Amidala leak that, too, while Bant inevitably mother-henned over him during his upcoming imprisonment in the Halls of Healing.

Mace Windu realized that he was holding back at some level, perhaps because they were physically in the Supreme Chancellor’s reception room and not in the middle of a dangerous mission on some sithspit planet, or maybe because he was used to friendly spars when both parties had lightsabers. This was no friendly spar; this was the Sith master who was not going to spare him. There would be no courteous bow at the end of the match. Master Windu screwed up his features into a terrifying scowl and redoubled his efforts, finally putting his Vaapad to use.

He pressed toward the window, thinking to corner the Sith master, who was jumping and leaping about in a manner most extraordinary for a man of his age. Not even Master Dooku attempted some of those moves. The Dark Side emotions powering Sheev Palpatine seemed to make him flamboyant in his approach. Good, keep him expending his energy with those feral yowls and wild leaps, tiring him out so that he could be cornered. Mace Windu knew how to pace himself.

When they reached the window, the Supreme Chancellor shattered the glass with his red lightsaber, in another flagrant act of disregard toward the taxpayers of the galaxy. Darth Sidious let his emotions fuel his wild leaps; Mace Windu saw his chance. A kick to the saber hand sent the red lightsaber hurtling down into the street below as the Supreme Chancellor scrambled into the corner of the oval window frame.

At that moment Obi-Wan, Maul, Jango Fett, and Cody entered the office suite, with Jeri-Mar Kenobi standing just outside at her boys’ insistence. Little Boba would be safe with Anakin in Senator Organa’s office, especially with Padme present as well. Anyone who actually knew her knew better than to underestimate her.

Obi-Wan smiled. _Here we are, Master, rooting out corruption and combatting the Dark Side in the most maverick way I could think of._ He could almost see Qui-Gon smiling at him, dismissing his very bad feelings about a variety of situations. Funny that he had a very good feeling going into this confrontation with the Sith master.

The group came into the reception room, where two dark figures were outlined against the aperture where the window should have been. “You are under arrest, my lord,” snarled Master Windu as he threatened the Supreme Chancellor with a purple lightsaber to his throat.

“Knight Kenobi. What a pleasant surprise. How nice of you to visit me in my office like old times. I still have some sweet brandy for Naboo kaf in the cabinet by the wall, and there is hot kaf in the urn on top of the cabinet. Do make yourself at home as we discuss your very promising career.”

All eyes turned to Obi-Wan, who looked down at his feet. How had he been so easy to fool, to string along for all those years? He had failed as a Jedi, to be sure, if he could not follow the Code himself and had not only tolerated but encouraged his apprentice to do the same as a culmination of the complete bungling of the boy’s education, and worse, had allowed the Sith master to sink his tentacles into both Anakin and himself. Poor Ahsoka was now also stuck with a proven failure for a master, the ultimate pathetic lifeform. This was all his fault. Back in his drinking days, being in the presence of the Supreme Chancellor had a way of making Obi-Wan feel bad about himself, generally until he shared a drink with the man, so that he would leave this office feeling important and sophisticated. He noticed that he had these thoughts again, now that he was back in this place. Was he being mind-tricked to feel this way, or was it simply the emotional memory of the times he had been here before?

“And Jango Fett. I’m sorry, I only pay for services delivered, not time wasted. That clone behind you is my property, which you are attempting to use without my permission. You have been quite unprofessional.” He raised his hands in that familiar gesture and began to choke Jango Fett. Cody rushed to his side, but since there were no visible hands on his throat, there was nothing he could do. The color drained from Jango Fett’s face as he gasped and collapsed to the floor, dead, his own hands wrapped around his throat.

Darth Sidious began to laugh, then turned his gaze on Maul. “So you fancy yourself a Jedi, now, do you? You know they will never accept you, given all the things you’ve done. Even young Skywalker was supposed to be too old at nine years old. You’re thirty. Thirty years I wasted on you. I fed you, clothed you, trained you. See for yourself, the Jedi are taking over.”

“Trained me? No, you abused me. The food was bad, besides. You took both of my biological brothers from me. I won’t let you take my adopted brother, too. The oppression of the Sith way will never return.”

Mace Windu edged closer to Darth Sidious. “See? You have lost completely.”

The pretense of helpless old man Sheev Palpatine started to drop, as Darth Sidious twisted his features into a snarling grin and began to intone, “No, no, you will die!” in a much deeper voice than anyone had ever heard him use before.

In the next moment, twin streams of Force lightning shot from the Supreme Chancellor’s two hands, one aimed at Master Windu, the other at Maul. Master Windu deflected the lightning back into the Supreme Chancellor with his purple lightsaber, aging his face well beyond the seventy Standard or so of its usual appearance, while Maul was not quite prepared. His hand was still on the hilt of his own double-bladed purple saber. It was Obi-Wan who caught the attack, giving Maul a chance to regroup. In his daily life as a newly-married hospital orderly on Stewjon, Maul did not have much use for his saber, and thus found himself a bit rusty.

Darth Sidious turned his head to look straight at Mace Windu. “He’s a traitor!”

Master Windu continued to adjust the position of his saber to deflect the Force lightning. “No, he’s the traitor!”

Obi-Wan’s lip quivered. All of this was because of him. If he submitted to the Chancellor, or at least made a show of it, the Force lightning would stop. Jango Fett was already dead, leaving Boba orphaned. The Organas would be happy to bring him up, but he would still bear the trauma of having lost a father violently, a trauma that Obi-Wan himself knew all too well. And Maul had been through enough already. He had a civilian bride and two little stepdaughters waiting for him at home on Stewjon, who would be devastated if anything happened to him.

“You have the power to save the ones you love, even those millions of worthless clones, and I have the power to grant you unlimited capacity for alcohol! You are the real Chosen One, you will master both sides of the Force, so that you will no longer be bound by senseless rules and regulations that jealous Jedi use to bind your power. If you join me of your own will, there will be no need for this or any more fighting with fools who will never understand you. You must choose correctly, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” The Supreme Chancellor was looking straight at Obi-Wan now. It was clear to him that the Supreme Chancellor had indeed been deliberate in encouraging him to drink in the first place, and that he would zap or choke everyone around Obi-Wan until he returned to drinking full-time. He did not want unlimited capacity for alcohol, but he did not want his friends and family to suffer.

“Don’t listen to him, Obi-Wan.” Maul took a step forward to block any Force lightning aimed at Obi-Wan. He was not going to let his brother relapse.

The Supreme Chancellor continued to visibly age and weaken as the Force lightning bounced off of the lightsabers held by the targets, and his tone changed again, back to helpless old man mode. “Don’t let them kill me! I can’t hold it any longer. I can’t. I’m weak. I’m too weak. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope. I can’t hold on any longer.”

As soon as the Force lightning stopped, Mace Windu brought his purple lightsaber to Sheev Palpatine’s throat. “I’m going to end this once and for all. He’s too dangerous to be left alive.”

Obi-Wan merely stared, shell-shocked. He did not want to defend the Supreme Chancellor, but killing him did not seem like the Jedi way, especially when they had him outnumbered like this.

“I’m too weak. Oh, don’t kill me, please.” Sheev Palpatine continued his act.

“Well, it’s not the Jedi way.” Obi-Wan muttered to himself. When he looked up and into the Supreme Chancellor’s yellow Sith eyes, they reminded him of Maul, of Anakin, even of his own eyes when they were turning green before he got sober. Perhaps it was too late and the Dark Side had already claimed him. He was tainted, a pathetic lifeform. Just as it was not possible to reverse the pickling process and get a fresh vegetable again, even if he stayed sober, he would always be an alcoholic.

“Yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you are already mine. You were mine from the day you accepted that first bottle of whiskey. There is another like it in the cabinet. Go ahead, help yourself. You’re a drunk, you will always be a drunk, but if you join me, we shall have power, unlimited power!” Sheev Palpatine suddenly resumed his Force-lightning attack on Maul, who was caught unprepared and dropped his double saber, sinking to his knees.

“Clone commander, take that saber and give it to me.” Darth Sidious addressed Cody, clearly expecting to hook the part of his psyche that had been conditioned to obey saber-wielders without question.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you are no Jedi. I take orders from Jedi. I know a Jedi when I see one, too. Master-Kenobi-from-Stewjon is a real Jedi, because he’s a legendary figure among us clones. Taun We spoke highly of him, as did the clones who actually met him. I take orders from him and any other Jedi that he trusts.”

Sheev Palpatine’s face erupted once more into a truly horrifying snarl. He had never expected the clones to be smart enough to tell Jedi from Sith, or to side with Kenobi over the very person who had commissioned their creation. Perhaps it was Kenobi who was too dangerous to be left alive.

“That’s enough of that.” Master Windu raised his purple lightsaber to strike down the Supreme Chancellor, only to be Force-pushed out of the window, his lightsaber clattering to the floor. Sheev Palpatine summoned the weapon to himself and jumped up from his position. He was not actually helpless after all.

“You will take your medicine, Kenobi!” The cabinet doors flew open and the bottle of whiskey flew into the Supreme Chancellor’s hand. He unscrewed the top and approached Obi-Wan with it. “All of this can end, Kenobi. Share this bottle with me, drink of the power of the Dark Side, and I might spare this useless spicehead of a pathetic lifeform who is so inexplicably important to you. Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?”

“Yes, I did. From a Jedi, in fact. It’s not a story the Sith will tell.” Maul spoke up from the floor, his eyes bright but russet, not yellow. He smirked despite being kept on his knees at saberpoint, enjoying the look of disgust and horror on his old master’s face. “Another thing the Sith don’t tell you is that the Dark Side is bad for your health, especially your teeth, and yet the Sith do not have any kind of medical care comparable to the Halls of Healing that you Jedi have.” Maul flashed Obi-Wan a recently-reconstructed grin. “You’re much better off as a Jedi.”

* * *

Garen was flying in a speeder just outside the Jedi Temple when he saw a humanoid figure in freefall just above him. He flew into position to catch the being, only to discover that it was none other than Master Windu himself.

“Master Windu? What happened to you?”

“The Supreme Chancellor himself was the Sith master. Obi-Wan and Maul are in there with him, along with one of the clones, trying to stop the barve.”

Garen knew better than to bring up the likely chain of events that led to Master Windu being thrown out the window. Instead, he frowned thoughtfully. “It’s all over the news about the Kaminoan clones and the Supreme Chancellor’s plan to kill the juveniles. His approval ratings have really fallen in the past few hours. It makes sense that he’s the Sith master if he comes up with a scheme like that.”

* * *

Obi-Wan took the bottle from the Supreme Chancellor, cradling it in his hands. A little over two years ago, he would have downed the entire contents without hesitation. It was incredible to think that this foul-smelling, foul-tasting brown liquid had had such a hold on him. If he drank from this bottle now, it would again.

“Remember, padawan. Your focus determines your reality.”

Obi-Wan smiled to hear Qui-Gon’s voice. He still missed his old master, all these years later. Obi-Wan caught a whiff of Qui-Gon’s hair oil, which immediately calmed him. It took him a moment to realize that it was Padme who was wearing it, probably for the management of her curls. Whatever the reason she had chosen to wear it, Padme was unwittingly helping Obi-Wan to stay centered. Surprisingly, even Maul reacted to it. He must have gotten more than a whiff of the fragrance during their duel all those years ago as Qui-Gon’s hair whipped in his face. Padme had entered the office.

“You’re right that I’m just a pathetic lifeform. But there’s nothing wrong with that, and if anything, I think it’s important. It takes a pathetic lifeform to truly serve the galaxy and the Republic, because how can a knight understand and protect the weak unless he accepts and embraces that weakness in himself? You say I am the Chosen One. But isn’t each of us chosen in some capacity?”

Darth Sidious was growling now. Kenobi’s confounded humility kept getting in the way. How was such a pathetic little being the Chosen One? The Force worked in mysterious ways, to be sure, but this was ridiculous.

Padme and Jeri-Mar Kenobi crept through the office, down the corridor, and towards the entrance to the reception room. The sight of Maul on his knees, kept there by Master Windu’s lightsaber pointed at his neck, made Mrs. Kenobi’s blood boil. How dare that monster threaten her boys. Padme had one hand in the billowing sleeve of her other arm, fingering the blaster hidden there. Seeing the look in the older woman’s eyes, she lifted up the skirts of her dress and produced another blaster from a holster on her garter belt, handing it to her.

Cody stood in the doorway, ready to offer support to the legendary Master-Kenobi-from-Stewjon certainly, perhaps even to the red-skinned man who did not seem to be a Jedi but was clearly on the same side as Master Kenobi. If he wanted to, he could probably escape undetected, but that was not what he was trained to do.

Obi-Wan moved even closer to the Supreme Chancellor, still cradling the bottle. “Oh yes, we are going to empty this bottle.”

Maul glanced up at Obi-Wan in alarm. _No, don’t drink that. Nothing good can come from being Darth Sidious’ apprentice. I would know_.

“You say I am the Chosen One, that I am special, that I can be above the Code. Did you even read the Code, though? Did you read the prophecy itself? The Chosen One is to bring balance to the Force.”

“Yes, by embracing the Dark Side. You have already been trained by Jedi chumps and losers in the Light. It is time to complete your training. The Code you have been taught is designed to keep you in servitude. Embrace the Sith Code and obtain unlimited power. Peace is a lie. There is only passion. Through passion I gain strength. Through strength I gain power. Through power I gain victory. Through victory my chains are broken. The Force shall free me. But there is a shortcut to growing your passion and power. Drink of the power that I am offering you.” Darth Sidious was getting tired of this. How could Kenobi be so slow on the uptake?

“That is not how I understand the prophecy. By following the Old Code, I have learned much. Emotion, yet peace. My sympathy for suffering has strengthened my commitment to guarding peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. It is by being small, pathetic, and ignorant, like the weakest being I am sworn to serve and protect, that I have gained knowledge and insight into how to best safeguard them. Passion, yet serenity. Love and attachment are different things. My love has brought me clarity of purpose, thus serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. I have embraced the messy chaos of life through tolerance and acceptance of myself and others, which has brought me harmony. Death, yet the Force. My mentors and loved ones who have died continue to guide me through the Force. You say I am kept in servitude, yes, but there is honor in service to a greater good. I am far from a perfect, luminous being, but it is my very imperfection that makes me perfect for service as a Jedi.”

It was Cody who noticed the two women. Perhaps because of the way he was programmed, his training as a commander took over as he motioned to them to come closer while using the elaborate furnishings of the room for cover. Padme knew what he was trying to do as he orchestrated their approach, having experienced military situations before, but Mrs. Kenobi did not. She did, however, have years of experience of following directives from doctors in her long career as a nurse, and was thus used to taking orders. Cody was relieved to see how quickly she caught on.

Darth Sidious growled some more as he shifted his focus from Maul to Obi-Wan and back again. He was certain there was some kind of wordless communication passing between them, but he could not tap into it. They were not using the tentative bond forged through joint meditation. No, this was a different kind of telepathy, primal, most likely a brother bond.

Maul began to sing. “ _Vode an, ka’rta tor!_ ” in a semi-trained baritone. Cody joined in, then Obi-Wan. Darth Sidious was a bit unnerved by this, since he had not expected to be serenaded; he inadvertently lowered the lightsaber in his hand, allowing Maul to pick up his own double-bladed saber and rise to his feet. He ignited his saber, now purple, and sliced off Darth Sidious’ arm in the middle of his bicep. Mace Windu’s saber clattered to the floor along with the severed arm. As Darth Sidious reached down for it with his other hand, quite forgetting in his shock to use the Force to call it to him, Obi-Wan took the opportunity to leap on top of the seat of the Supreme Chancellor’s chair, still holding the open whiskey bottle in one hand.

“It’s over. I have the high ground,” he observed as he poured the whiskey out onto the body of Sheev Palpatine, who was still on all fours on the floor.

At a signal from Cody, Padme and Mrs. Kenobi opened fire on the Sith master, thereby igniting the whiskey that drenched his robes and hair. Cody found some bottles of utoz in the cabinet, which he opened and handed to Obi-Wan, who poured those out onto the Supreme Chancellor as well, prolonging the flames. The bottles were more than likely intended for Obi-Wan’s use anyway.

“As they say, a man takes a drink, the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes the man. You were my friend, Chancellor. I liked you. I didn’t want to believe that you were evil.”

“From my point of view, the Jedi are evil! It’s not too late, you can still join on me on the Dark Side!” Sheev Palpatine gasped as the flames engulfed him.

“I will never join you.” Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber and held it above the Supreme Chancellor. The blue light from the blade combined with the bright firelight for an interesting effect that was strangely beautiful.

“Then you are lost!” Darth Sidious wheezed as Mace Windu came back into the office. He called his lightsaber to himself with the Force, casually prying the severed arm’s death grip off of the hilt, before pronouncing him under arrest again. Darth Sidious was still too dangerous to be left alive, but proper protocols must still be followed. When the severely-burned Sith master raised his remaining hand, albeit feebly, in an attempt to unleash Force-lightning, Mace Windu sliced this off as well, on the grounds that the disgraced Chancellor was resisting arrest.

Mrs. Kenobi approached from behind Cody, still holding Padme’s spare blaster, which she had never handled in her life before today. She regarded this man, who had targeted her boys, for a long moment. “Nobody hurts my boys and gets away with it.” The Chancellor’s yellow eyes went wide in horror as she delivered another shot at close range. It had not been Mother Talzin that he needed to worry about, but Mrs. Kenobi.

Cody and Maul helped Master Windu remove the charred remains of the dying traitor while Jeri-Mar Kenobi threw her arms around her third son, checking him for damage. A few minutes later Ahsoka came running in, Master Dooku and Bant not far behind her, while Garen appeared in the doorway.

“Master!” Ahsoka flung herself at Obi-Wan, wrapping her arms around his torso from the side. Padme smiled and slipped out. She had a report to file.

“That was wizard, Master.” Obi-Wan heard Anakin over their training bond, which was still robust. The young knight must have been watching the proceedings through the security holocamera footage.

When Maul returned, Mrs. Kenobi turned her attention to him and assessed him for damage as well, squeezing him in a tight embrace. “I’m so proud of my boys!”

* * *

Darth Sidious had been in his holding cell for less than a day when he died of his injuries, necessitating a Senate-wide vote to name a new Supreme Chancellor. Although Mas Amedda was one of the favorites, he declined the position out of shocked anger and remorse at having served so closely under a traitor and failing to notice. Bail Organa also declined, citing family concerns, namely, the adoption process for young Boba Fett-Organa. Thus it was that Naboo found itself in need of a new senator yet again.

One of the first new policies Supreme Chancellor Amidala adopted was to strengthen the Jedi Order and Republic’s mandate to aggressively prosecute slavers wherever they were found. A galaxy safe for the poorest, most insignificant “pathetic lifeforms” was, after all, a galaxy in which everyone was safe.


End file.
